Hetalia: The Wind Waker
by SamuraiSal1
Summary: So apparently it's possible to be sucked into a videogame. Fortunately for America, he's played this one before and knows all about his role as Hero. Unfortunately for both of them, England hasn't, and doesn't know the first thing about being in a videogame. But at least he has experience as a pirate captain, right? Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker with Hetalia Characters; USUK
1. Chapter 1

"Hey, uh, England?" America hesitated, unsheathing his sword and somewhat unsteadily putting his shield over his arm. "I think you might want to come check this out…"

"Mm?" England hummed, blinking open the eye that wasn't under the eyepatch. "What is it, love? Monsters again?"

"…Kind of," America said in a cautiously low voice. "But, uh, a little different, yeah? So you should get up _and bring your dagger_ and we can tackle this together."

That seemed to have swayed England's opinion, but he still grumbled under his breath, obviously not happy about being woken up so early. He shuffled over to the 'hero', absently rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I doubt it's anything to be getting so worked up about—"

He stopped short upon seeing that, in fact, it was something to get worked up about.

America laughed uneasily, slipping his hand into England's. "How about you take the left side?"

"And leave you with the entire right?" England snarked, but didn't pull away. "Doubtful."

"Guess there's no helping it, then," America said with a grin, drawing the other nation closer to him. "We'll just have to take all of these guys together!"

XXX

_Two weeks earlier…_

XXX

It had been a long two weeks for America.

Not because of paperwork, and not because of working out, either (though he should have probably gotten to that sometime that week), and it definitely wasn't because he'd had any meetings. America had actually been somewhat of a hermit for those past few weeks.

And why?

Because he'd been playing a video game, courtesy of Japan.

But the game was finished after two very long (very tiring) weeks, and he could stop ignoring the world around him. The 'world' specifically meaning 'those droopy islands around Europe'.

Really, he'd just been too caught up in the game to do anything other than play (he barely remembered to eat, so obviously he wouldn't remember to call England back). Unfortunately, 'not calling' was 'not calling', according to England, no matter the reasons. And knowing England, he wouldn't get so much as a _hug_ until he spent at least two weeks _and a day_ of doing whatever England wanted, as payment for the time he'd been 'ignoring' him.

(Though if America did the same thing to him when England spent two weeks reading a new series, England would throw a fit about how America was being a bad boyfriend. Hypocrisy at it's finest.)

But England was… England, and all of his Englishness that came with him was part of him, so America had to either take it or leave it, and as he'd been taking it for years and didn't exactly want to stop getting it, he picked up the phone, fully prepared for his lecture.

After all, it'd been two weeks. He kind of missed being yelled at. Sort of.

"Oh, _now_ you call, you git!" England snapped the minute he answered. "I was worried sick about you not calling for almost a week, but of course when I call Japan to ask about your whereabouts, he tells me you're just at home playing videogames like usual!" There was a pause, and America took a breath so he could explain, but England cut him off before he could say anything. "Do you know how long you've been ignoring me?"

"Yeah, yeah, two weeks, I get it," America said with a sigh. "Anyways, I'm done now, so if you want, you can swing by and I can make it up to you—"

"Why would I want to do that?" England snapped. "For all I know you're just going to ignore me while I'm there! Give me one good reason to visit you!"

"Because you love me?" America suggested, rubbing his eyes. "Look, it's late here, I'm _tired_ and my eyes are freakin' bloodshot. I called you the second I finished, so… Can you just… I dunno, appreciate at least that much? Just this once?"

"Why on earth would I appreciate it?" England asked, but his voice had softened, so America knew that he at least wasn't going to purposely give him a headache. "I was going to visit last week to make sure you were okay, but after you didn't return any of my calls, I don't even want to see you!"

"If you wanted to visit me before, why can't you do it now?" America groaned, flopping onto the floor with a huff. "Seriously. I want to see you, but I really need either a yes or a no so I can sleep."

"So I don't even compare next to sleep now, is that it?" England growled.

"That's not it!" America tried not to snap, he really did, but he was tired and England was being more difficult than usual. "Look, I'm _tired_. I say stupid things when I'm tired. So—"

"Oh, because _that's_ unusual," England snarked. "You say stupid things whether you're tired or not."

"Now that's just uncalled for," America said with a sigh. "Look, I get it, you're mad at me. So I'm just gonna hang up now. I'd ask if that was cool with you, but obviously you're too mad at me to even give me a decent answer." He paused. "So… well, just, good night, England. Call back when you're being less of a total jerk." And without waiting for an answer, he hung up.

By that point, America was too drained to even bother going up the stairs to his bedroom and instead stayed on the floor, where it was nice and comfortable with the fluffy throw-rug and where he didn't have any reminders of his less-than-doting partner.

He drifted off to sleep mere moments later.

XXX

England was in a bad mood. He'd been in a bad mood all week, ever since hearing that America was blowing him off for a blasted _video game_, but was in a much worse one at the current predicament.

He shouldn't have just let America hang up on him. And he probably shouldn't have yelled at him when he was obviously just trying to find a way to make it up to him later that week. And, _fine_, he probably shouldn't have insulted his intelligence, twisted his words or otherwise berated him during the whole phone call just because he was upset.

England understood. _Really, _he did. That hardly meant that he'd keep himself from doing it again, but he _understood_. He just didn't want both of them to stay in a bad mood because of a mistake they almost always made around each other.

So, naturally, he'd called Japan to find a way to make it up to America. (For England's own sake, because it wasn't as if he wanted to make America feel better or anything stupid like that. He was the main representation of the United Bloody Kingdom. He didn't play 'devoted boyfriend' and attempting it would be absurd.)

And, naturally, Japan had responded with a new game for America. He'd said something about one of America's old favorites with 'a twist', and something about not pressing a certain button of the controls. (England hadn't been listening, but not because he'd been imagining how America would simply light up at the present. Because, again, it would be absurd to even think such things.)

England had immediately boarded a plane, present in-hand, and called a taxi instead of America to come pick him up from the airport. (Not because he wanted to surprise him. Or because he didn't want to hear America being possibly disappointed at seeing him, after all. And not because he thought that America might still be sleeping because he really _had_ sounded tired. All of those options were absolutely ridiculous.)

So exactly nine and a half hours since their last conversation, England arrived at America's house, game in-hand and fully prepared to deal with a possibly-still-upset America (he'd brought the obligatory stuffed animal and everything). However, as he didn't want to wake him if he _was_ still sleeping, England simply dug out his key and walked inside, closing the door softly behind him.

It took several minutes of quiet searching to finally find America—he wasn't in his room, the kitchen, any of his storage rooms, any of the bathrooms or guest rooms or even the garage—before he spotted him.

America was, somewhat surprisingly, lying down in the living room with half his face smushed into the rug with his glasses barely staying on his nose. England quickly looked away—_not_ storing the picture away in his mind for a rainy day—but walked forward nonetheless. After a few quiet moments, he felt somewhat obligated to move the superpower to the couch, lest he wake up sore from sleeping on the floor.

Unfortunately, the moment England tried to pick him up, America woke up.

"Mmm… whacha doin'ere?" America mumbled, half to the carpet and half to England.

England, of course, tried in vain to regain his wits—He'd just noticed… something… different in the house, that was all. It had nothing to do with America and how adorable he was when he was barely waking up!—and after a few failed attempts, finally managed to string together a fully comprehensible sentence. "I… just came here to apolo… er, t-to give you something. So you won't be upset with me, that's all."

"Mm?" America furrowed his brow in confusion, sleepily sitting up and bringing a clumsy hand up to straighten his glasses. "Why would I be mad at you…?" After a few seconds' struggle with his memory, he seemed to remember and pointedly looked away, huffing his disappointment.

"I don't want you upset with me," England explained, working his hand into the other nation's. Upon receiving no acknowledgement (and trying not to feel too guilty about America immediately pulling his hand away), he sighed and picked up America's present. "I hope this will, er, help, if nothing else."

America hesitantly glanced up at him when he was handed the gift, warily eyeing it as if inspecting it for a trap (like a punching glove…). Finally, he gave up on half-intended hostilities and opened it.

He nearly cried out in joy when he saw what game it was and quickly hugged it to his chest. Before England had a second to move, America embraced him, too, and the two nations toppled to the ground, the island nation hesitantly returning the hug.

"I… Japan said that you'd like it," England hurriedly explained. "It was just to make up, so don't read too much into it!" When he received no more of an answer than a laughing kiss on the cheek, he pressed on. "No, I mean it! And even though I got you this, I still don't want you to play it while I'm here! It's rude to ignore your guest, especially when he's your partner! Do you understand?"

At that, America frowned, his previously ecstatic expression quickly fading. "O…Oh. Alright. I understand… T…Thanks, England." And he lowered his head, refusing to make eye contact with the other nation.

England mentally slapped himself for completely ruining America's good mood. He hesitantly tried to fix the scene, no matter how much he knew it would pain him (his pride…). "H…hey, now. What's that look for? I only…" he paused, coming up with a compromise as quick as his mind would allow. "I only meant that if you play it while I'm here, then I at least want to… er, be able to watch, or be in the same room with you, reading while you play, or… or something…"

America brightened immediately. "You really mean that? You'll watch me?"

"If I must…" England mumbled, but fortunately kept his sigh inside. "But how about right now you go to sleep in your own bed? You must still be tire—"

"Eh?" America asked, furrowing his brow. "But I just woke up. Seriously, I'm fine. I wanna start playing right now though! If you're tired you can sleep on the couch or somethin', and I'll fill you in on the storyline when you wake up! How's that sound?"

England mentally sighed again, but kept some semblance of a smile on his face—It obviously wasn't real, blast it all! He didn't get that happy over making America smile like that! "Actually, love, I'm not all that tired. You can start the game now if you'd like."

America brightened even more, if that was possible, and quickly put the disc into the player, waiting for it to load, filling in his character's name and pressing start.

When the title screen came up, though, England found that he recognized the series.

"It's a Legend of Zelda one?" he asked, somewhat surprised.

"Wind Waker!" America said with a grin, controller already in-hand. "It's seriously awesome. Probably my favorite game, like ever!"

England made a mental note to thank Japan the next time he had the chance. "Really now?"

"Yeah, it's about this kid who ends up—" America cut himself off, though, as faded pages from what appeared to be a legend of some sort came onto the screen.

England watched, entranced despite himself, as he watched the words go by on the screen, telling a tale about an ancient hero and an even older evil, and about a great flood…

However, shortly after the legend faded into black and the next graphics started to load, America reached into the bag and pulled out a strange-looking device. "Hey, uh, England?" he asked, somewhat hesitant. "D'you know what this remote-thing goes to?"

England furrowed his (rather sizeable) brow at that. "Er, no, actually… I daresay Japan put that in there with the game, but I don't remember much about what he said it did…"

America, however, didn't seem to be paying much attention, either. He looked at the buttons along the device, and paused at the red one at the bottom. It seemed to have a warning on it… America squinted through his glasses and could just make out the words 'Warning, do not touch. That means you, America!'

It might as well have been an invitation to press it. So he did.

Before he was even aware of what was going on, he heard a yell—quickly accompanied by his own—and was suddenly aware that he was falling, and that he couldn't see England anywhere around him. Black surrounded him, and he didn't even have a chance to figure out where he was going before he felt himself gradually stopping, and something hard hitting his head.

America tried in vain to stand up, but apparently his head had been hit harder than he thought, and he was suddenly too tired to even keep his eyes open.


	2. Chapter 2

America woke to a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him awake. He groaned and rolled over onto his stomach. Unfortunately, that seemed to just irritate whoever was trying to wake him up, as he felt a soft kick to his side. And then another. And then another, much _harder_ kick.

"Big Brother!" he heard an eerily familiar voice shouting.

Except that the voice was hardly shouting, but doing a very quiet impression of shouting.

Which led America to believe that the person trying to wake him was Canada, which, needless to say, didn't exactly make him feel any more like waking up than before. Risking a sleepy glance up at the person just to check, America found that he was correct in his assumption, but quickly closed his eyes again, much to the annoyance of the northern nation.

Finally, though, Canada seemed to get fed up with America ignoring him, and America quickly went back to napping. Unfortunately, after being woken up, he found that he was laying on something hard and rather uncomfortable (were those splinters digging into his stomach?) and therefore couldn't fall back asleep. So, feeling none too happy about the rude awakening, he stretched and after a few minutes of working out the soreness that came from sleeping on the floor (_Sleeping on the floor… sleeping on the floor… hey, I kinda remember something about sleeping on the floor recently… and England… something about a video-game and a remote… Ah, nah, must've been a dream…_) and stood.

"I knew you'd be here!"

America stopped in his tracks, momentarily paralyzed at being snuck up on.

"W-Whoa, seriously dude? You're just gonna sneak up on me like that?" America squeaked indignantly, whirling around to face Canada…

Who was wearing very, very different clothes than he was used to. It wasn't as bad as wearing a dress or anything like that (or those frilly outfits France forced them both into several times when they were children), but America wasn't exactly sure what to think of the loose-fitting, islander-style clothes (and sandals?) that Canada was currently sporting.

"Uh… bro… that's… a good look for you?" America attempted, but Canada didn't seem to be listening anyways, which America took as a small blessing.

Canada leaned up against the railing and gazed out into the ocean surrounding them—which America recounted as oddly familiar, and just more strangeness that had happened since he woke up—before turning around to look at his brother. "You know, this is my favorite place to be on the island. You can see for miles around…" he paused, grinning suddenly. "But seriously. D'you know what day it is today?"

America just blinked at him, trying in vain to piece together everything that had happened, and also trying to remember why the back of his head hurt so badly. He felt like he had a concussion, though, so that certainly explained a lot of why he was having so much difficulty remembering anything. "Uhm… No. Am I supposed to?"

Canada raised an eyebrow, giving a half-amused smile. "You must still be half-asleep, then, if you've forgotten." America was just about to reply that he had a _concussion, so thanks for the concern, bro_, but Canada continued before he could say anything. "It's your birthday!"

America blinked at him, because he'd been pretty sure that it was still, like, _March_, nowhere near July Fourth, but was saved the trouble when Canada pointed over to the house, America hesitantly following the general direction.

"You see? Mom's been waiting for you for a while now," Canada said, giving him another half-amused look. "It's a good thing I came to find you. But, uh, hey," he paused, scratching the back of his head. "You should probably go see what she wants, eh?"

America decided to play along. Fortunately, everything seemed oddly familiar, so he could guess what was about to happen next. "I guess I might as well check?"

"Atta boy," Canada urged, half shoving him towards the ladder. Fortunately, America caught the first rung so he didn't fall all the way down.

Still, he felt something like de-ja-vu from his surroundings.

America shook his head violently to clear it. No, it wasn't possible… this was just a set-up or something, right?

Because it was totally ridiculous for him to be trapped inside a videogame.

…Wait.

Trapped?

He blinked, suddenly concerned because he could distinctly remember England being there with him when he hit the button on the remote.

"Then… where the heck is England?" he mused out loud.

Still, America felt an overwhelming need to at least go check and see who was playing the part of his 'Grandma'. After all, Canada had called her 'Mom'… and there was only one person that he and Canada had ever addressed as that…

He opened the door to 'his' house, carefully sliding inside and climbing the ladder to the upper portion of the house.

Before he knew what was really going on, he felt himself being swept up into a tight hug, before being set down none-too-gently on the ground.

America found himself staring up into a very familiar set of dark brown eyes.

"N…Native… America?" he whispered, backing up a step more. "You're…"

"I've told you a thousand times, dear," she half-scolded, in that same no-nonsense tone she always used with him and Canada before they were even _colonies_. "Just call me Mom! Honestly, I think I deserve at least that, with how well I take care of you and your brother!"

America was still too in shock to do much more than nod.

Native America seemed to register that and swept him up into another—less tight this time—hug. "Oh, sweetie! Don't look so surprised, honestly! I hope I didn't break you, because that just wouldn't do, not with what I'm about to give you!"

America looked up uncertainly at her, but at her quickly falling expression, put on his best smile. "Thanks, …Mom," he got out, hesitantly using the word. "What'd you, uh, get me?"

She absolutely beamed at that before pulling out a bundle of clothing from seemingly nowhere, handing it to America with more pressure than necessary. "You go try this one now, alright? I promise I won't peek until it's on!"

America had to try a bit harder to force a smile at that, but went downstairs to put on the (eerily familiar) clothes anyways. They fit, it seemed (and were even a bit loose, which he really appreciated, as, if his remembrance of the game was correct, he'd soon be going on an adventure), and he quickly went back upstairs to show Native America. Er, his 'Mom'…

"Oh, beautiful, beautiful!" she said with a warm smile. "You look absolutely lovely, just as all the legends say that the Hero should look!"

"Well, I am a Hero," America said with a genuine (trademarked) grin. "So, uh. I'm not going to have to run around outside for too long in these, right? 'Cause… uh, it's kinda late in the summer to be wearing these, isn't it?"

"Oh, don't try that with me," Native America scolded. "You're always complaining about how cold it is anyways!" She paused, then reclaimed her smile. "Ach, what am I even doing…" She put her hands on his shoulders, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "Dear One, you are finally old enough to wear these clothes. It is a great honor, so you should treat it as such." She paused, examining his still-forced smile. "And you only have to wear them for one day, so you shouldn't worry so much."

"Y…Yeah, well, I guess that's okay… Y'know, if we're doing this to honor the Hero of Ancient…" America mumbled, recalling his extensive knowledge of the Legend of Zelda to aid him.

"I see you've been reading into the old legends again, haven't you?" Native America said, rolling her eyes. "Yes, Dear One. But don't you get it in your head to start trying sword-fighting or anything of the sort! We don't do that anymore, since there isn't a need for heroes and we're in a time of peace! Prussia is the only one here who still knows anything about that anyways, so don't get any ideas, do you hear me?"

"Er… Right!" America nodded eagerly, absolutely itching to get his hands on a sword. "But, uh… two seconds, where could I get a shield if, say, I needed one to go on an extensive adventure to save, uh, Canada, or, uh, something?"

Native America raised an eyebrow at that, but indulged him nonetheless. "You'd find it hanging on the wall if ever you needed it. However, I sincerely doubt that'll happen. Have you been daydreaming again?"

"Uh… no?" America said with a purposely non-convincing grin.

"Ah, Dear One…" she shook her head with a fond smile. "What am I going to do with you?"

America matched the smile, reaching forward and bringing her into a hug, barely biting down the words 'I missed you' and 'I'm sorry' and 'Why did you have to leave?'

"Well, although I certainly appreciate the hug, I should probably get going on your decorations and your birthday dinner. I'll be making soup, won't that be nice?" Native America asked with a grin.

"Anything you want to make is fine," America insisted, hesitantly pulling away.

"I'm not sure what's gotten into you," Native America said, still smiling, "But… well, I suppose it doesn't matter. But be a dear and go get your brother, Canada. He still needs to make his bed."

"Y-Yeah, no problem…" America nodded, hesitating just a moment. But he'd get another chance to give her a hug goodbye, he knew, so he wasn't going to weird her out before then. He put on a brighter than normal smile and hopped down the ladder, running to the door. "Will do!"

XXX

England woke up in a bed, feeling the familiar pitch and fall of a ship. However, when he opened his eyes, something seemed… off.

Had his Captain's Cabin always been so… bright? And since when did he have a picture of his mother, Brittania, hanging on the wall? There was another portrait, too, of someone who looked an awful lot like America, but he looked far too serious to be him. And the map on the desk across from him didn't look very familiar, either…

Thoroughly confused, England sat up and swung his legs out of bed, only to find yet another surprise waiting.

He was wearing girl's clothing. A female pirate's clothing, which wasn't too different from a male's (Mary Read and Anne Bonny could attest to that), but still. He was wearing _girl's clothing_.

Before England could dwell too much on that, though, he heard a knock on the door.

"Buenos Dias!" Spain called, swiftly walking inside, even more cheerful than usual. "It is a big day, amiga, so rise and shiiine~!"

"What is your bloody problem, Spain?" England snapped, about to comment on the 'amiga' comment (he was a _boy_, blast it all, because dressed as a female or no, he was decidedly _male_!) , but there was a sudden crash into the side of the boat, causing both England and Spain to stumble and try in vain to right themselves.

"Ahhh… it seems we have been hit! But do not worry, mi Capitán! I will protect you with my strength and sword!"

And with that said, he took off running—decidedly _Spain_-styled—towards the direction of the crash.

England, by that point, was too confused by everything going on to even bother with moving, but after a few minutes' pause, he regained his sense and looked around the room for a sword. He found a red belt with a dagger-holder on 'his' (or her? Obviously whoever really owned the cabin was a female…) dresser, and quickly put it on. Fortunately, the dagger itself was nearby, and England quickly picked it up, not waiting to find a shield before he ran out onto where he assumed the ship's deck was (after a wrong turn that led him to some strange empty chamber filled with randomly placed table type things in the lower section…).

It was on the deck of the ship that he saw a very, _very_ large, very strange-looking bird.

And it seemed that the bird had spotted him, too, and set all its sights on England.

Before the island nation even had a clue of what was going on, the bird charged him, and though he slashed at it with all he had, he couldn't get more than a scratch on it, and soon found that it was fully capable of using its talons for purposes worse than just scratching him.

England found himself being lifted high into the air, cannon-fire soon following him.

The strangeness of the day had taken its toll on him, though, and he soon found himself losing consciousness, high above the ground.

XXX

"D…Did you see that?" Canada yelled, shaking America's shoulder and almost making him lose his sights with the telescope.

A few minutes earlier, America had gone back up the lookout post so he could remind Canada about his chores, but before he could, his brother had thrust his 'most prized possession' (a telescope) onto him, saying that America could keep it for the day, since it was his birthday.

America had, needless to say, been pleasantly surprised by the (short term) gift, and immediately put it to good use by scanning the skies for a good while. After a few minutes, though, Canada had tugged on his arm, frantic, and America looked around until he spotted what his brother had seen.

The 'graphics' were familiar to the older brother, but he was pretty sure that the game had never actually had blood on 'Tetra'… Who was being played by…

America would recognize those eyebrows anywhere, but the clothes were definitely something new.

_England's a girl here_?

Canada, of course, couldn't see England without the telescope anyways (he only knew that a bird had taken a 'girl' up into the sky), so America didn't exactly mention that he knew the 'girl' that had been taken. Instead, he'd watched, numbly, as the pirates' cannon had finally hit the bird, and England fell from the sky and into the nearby forest.

"Yeah, I did, and I'm going to help… er, _her_," America said, closing the scope to hand it back to his brother, but Canada didn't take it.

"It's yours for the day, remember, Big Brother? Now go be a hero! But… but be careful, okay?" Canada said brightly, and America was suddenly aware that not only was this world's Canada not the same as his world's in personality (a bit more outspoken, more innocent and perhaps a bit more naïve) but was also a few years younger than America, obvious when he realized how much shorter his brother was.

It was then that the realization that America wouldn't really get to see his brother for a long, long time hit him, and he was overwhelmed with the urge to hug him, and, not seeing anything wrong with it, followed through on. Canada seemed a little startled at the sudden embrace, but patted his older brother on the back nonetheless.

"Alright, I'll be careful, but you… you be careful, too, okay?" America said seriously, crouching down slightly so he could be eye-level with his brother. He couldn't remember a time when he was ever that much taller than the other, save when America was just becoming an independent nation and Canada was still a colony… "I need you to be safe."

"Well, okay…" Canada said, slightly confused at the sudden affection and protective behavior. "But… uh, you should get a sword from Prussia or something if you want to help that girl." He paused, thinking for a few seconds before adding, "And… And a shield, too!"

America gave a watery smile and nodded, giving Canada one last squeeze before releasing him. "I will. And I'll fight bravely and even… even the, uh, Hero of Ancient would be impressed! But you need to be good, too, okay? Otherwise I can't have you as my sidekick, y'know?"

"All right, Big Brother," Canada said with an incredulous smile. "Now you go be a hero so I _can_ be your sidekick!"

America nodded, hesitantly letting go all the way before he finally walked off, but stopped before he went down the ladder. "But… but you promise you'll be safe, okay?"

"Yes, I promise!" Canada laughed. "Now go!"

America gave one last watery smile before he started down the ladder, jumping off when there were only a few rungs left. From there, he ran all the way to the house that he knew Prussia would be.

Wait.

He was learning sword-fighting from _Prussia_. That meant that the brother upstairs was Germany.

And if there were that many people he knew on the island, '_Outset'_ (or did they call it something different in this world?), then what about the rest of the world? Would the Northern Europeans be in the icy region and some of the African nations be near the volcano island? And what about Dragon Roost? And Windfall? And all the other majorly inhabited?

And… Oh, lord…

Would Russia end up being _Ganondorf_ or the _Fairy Queen_?

**XXX**

**All right! This story will be a Hetalia crossover-type-thing (but not really…) with Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker, but unlike my other multi-chaptered Wind Waker story (cancelled by now, sorry folks), this one will have a lot more variation from the game. As for right now, it's pretty close, but in a few chapters, it'll have a pretty important plot twist, so don't expect this to help you out with all the levels in case you haven't played this game yet (which, by the way, you should). **

**Also. I gave you many hints about what the twist would be in this chapter. Cookies for anyone who figures it out. **

**Please read and review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Every single person who reviewed this has a special place in my heart now. Please accept this next chapter as a token of my gratitude. **

**XXX**

It hadn't more than a minute for America to get to the German house (that was what he decided to call it, and he figured that he could call his own home the 'North American house', but he could only guess what the rest of the houses were, since he hadn't exactly had time to explore, and the curiosity was going to kill him if he never got to find out). However, it had taken him several minutes of standing on the (rather intimidating) doorstep to actually find the courage to knock.

After all, there were about thirty signs around the yard, contrasting between neat, orderly pickets that told passerbys to stay off the grass or to keep the noise around their house down, and wooden posts with an unnecessary amount of nails randomly sticking out of them, ordering passerbys to simply stay off their property and/or enter at their own risk.

America was fairly sure about who made which signs.

And he was also pretty sure that he should simply make a run for it before either Prussia or Germany came out, but unfortunately it seemed that one of the two had a sixth sense about anyone standing on their property. (Perhaps a side-affect at living somewhere near Switzerland?) A few seconds later, America found himself tripping backwards in fright when the front door swung open.

America had never been so relieved to see Germany, not Prussia.

Now, America actually didn't have that bad of a relationship with Prussia. On the many, many occasions that England had gotten himself drunk at a bar, but protested going home, Prussia was, at the very least, a decent person to talk to. Not that Prussia hadn't gotten himself totally wasted, too, but aside from his words being a bit slurred, America usually found that he was pretty much the same person, drunk or not. And that was very appreciated, especially as the rest of the nations could become completely different from themselves when drunk.

And, he had to admit, Prussia was pretty entertaining. He usually got kicked out of the World Meetings, not because he was no longer a nation, but because he would actually get people to relax and live a little (Germany called it being 'disruptive', Prussia called it being awesome). So that, too, was definitely something America liked about him.

Unfortunately, the last time he'd gotten fighting tips from Prussia was during the Revolutionary War.

And it really, really, _really_ wasn't a fun time.

It wasn't like America couldn't take any sort of normal training, like doing a lot of pushups and sit-ups and going on long runs to prepare for battles. However, when Prussia was the one training him, America had absolutely no time to rest in-between fights. Prussia would make him do pushups until his arms wouldn't hold him any longer (and that was a lot of pushups, as America had always been ridiculously strong), sit-ups until he would puke (and then order him to do about a hundred more, since his stomach was already empty, he could probably handle more), and run until he was ready to pass out. And when he wouldn't comply, he got the Riding Crop_, _or as America had learned to refer to it, _His Own Personal Hell, _with Prussia being Evil Incarnate.

Needless to say, America did not have the happiest memories of Prussia being his trainer.

So, yes, America was very, very happy to see Germany open the door instead of Prussia. He almost felt obliged to hug the more orderly of the brothers, but decided against it, as he'd heard horror stories about people (other than Italy…) who'd tried to hug him.

"Can I help you?" Germany growled, face unreadable as ever.

America gulped, nervously tapping his index fingers together. "Er… Y-Yeah, I was wondering w…where… I… I could find…"

"Mein bruder?" the German asked, raising an eyebrow. America nodded. "Hm. I'm afraid he does not get many visitors, aside from people who want to learn to fight," when America paled, he frowned and continued. "So, that is your intention, then?"

"Er… yes?" America said hesitantly. "Look, I'm just trying to save this… uh, girl… that fell into the forest. If you'd been outside just a minute or two ago, you'd have seen this gigantic bird drop her. I need to make sure she's okay." (And America would never get used to referring to England as a girl. Half the reason he was set on going to the forest was to see for himself whether England was just dressed in girl's clothes, or actually a girl, but still had unusually thick eyebrows. He stifled a giggle at the thought, as he figured Germany wouldn't appreciate the joke.)

"A girl dropped into the forest, eh?" Germany asked, crossing his arms. "Well, I suppose if you're telling the truth, you really do need to get a weapon to defend yourself from the creatures there," he paused, though, face growing dark with a sinister emotion, "And if you're lying… _I suppose my bruder will punish you for it anyways, nein?_"

America paled further, eyes wide and terrified, but found that he could no longer turn back, as Germany was ushering him inside. Upon seeing Prussia sharpening a long spear with his back to him and Germany, America gulped, wondering, not for the first time, what he'd gotten himself into.

XXX

When England awoke, he was _not_ happy. Not only was he hanging from a tree branch by his breeches—_he refused to call them kapris, because that was too much of a feminine term for him to be entirely comfortable with it, nevermind that they were, in fact, kapris_—but he was at least two stories above ground.

That said, he was fairly certain he could get himself out given the chance, but he was too far out on the tree's limb to swing over without getting hurt. He was hoping, of course, that there was a tree branch below him, but the forest was too dark to make out anything specific, and England was many things, but not an idiot. He knew when a plan was too risky.

However, if he didn't move soon, it would be nighttime, and he'd have to wait until morning to even see his hand in front of his face. After a moment's struggle, he remembered where he had his dagger, and was half tempted to cut himself free from the belt and simply use his arms to get him closer to the actual tree trunk, then climbing down using touch and what was left of his good judgement to guide him.

That plan, however well it would have worked, was thwarted by the branch snapping, causing England to fall several feet before being caught on a sturdier branch and had the wind knocked out of him.

He gave up after that, and simply decided to wait it out.

_Honestly… it's like fate has it out for me!_

XXX

One hundred hits to three. _One hundred freaking hits to three_.

America was pretty sure that the game had that part to it, too, but he couldn't recall it ever being so difficult to land one hundred hits on Orca as it was with Prussia. In the game, at least, Orca seemed to want him to succeed, but Prussia, on the other hand…

"Kesesesesesese!" the older German brother snickered, jumping forward in a surprise attack (that really shouldn't have been a surprise, since he'd done it several times already, but America supposed he just wasn't used to being attacked by people in general. He'd entered, like, two wars because of that, so people didn't really do it anymore). "That's another three! Let's restart, ja? But hey, I have to hand it to you, you're persistent, even if you only got, like, twenty five hits in!"

America just groaned, trying to shake off the injury (and sure-to-be-bruise). "Y'know, it's kind of my birthday today… My mom's going to kill me if you tear these," he protested, and hey, maybe it was a little cowardly to be trying to get out of it like that, but America really needed that sword—

"Then take off the outer part, runt!" Prussia laughed. "It looks too warm anyways, you know? Maybe the heat's getting to your brain!"

America didn't laugh. The clothes were probably the only things keeping him from greater injury, as they were pretty cushiony against the wooden swords (though Prussia had surprisingly let him use a real sword, though it was pretty rusty). Still, he had to admit… he really was getting pretty overheated. So he decided to at the very least take off the long-sleeved undershirt part. And yeah, America looked pretty silly (and even more feminine, as the tunic looked a lot more like a dress without the undershirt), but he finally wasn't completely roasting anymore.

And, remembering that Prussia mainly valued endurance, he knew that if he gave up, he'd only have to go through a much more difficult trial later.

"Y'know what?" America asked, giving a cocky smile. "I think you're right. It is pretty warm. How about we go again, then?"

"I like you, kid," Prussia grinned, easy matching America's arrogance. "How about this. I hit you, say, five times, and you try for seventy-five, yeah?"

America was suddenly aware that this world's version was quite a bit more charitable than his world's, as the Prussia there (or at least the one during the Revolutionary War, seriously, he still had nightmares about that guy) would never have lowered the punishment… er, 'requirement'. So he just gave a smile—carefully keeping the cocky one in place, as a genuine one on any sort of battlefield just made him feel weird—and picked up his sword again. "Alright, then. Do your worst!"

And Prussia most certainly did. It was a difficult fight, much worse than anything America could remember doing in the last century, minus the Cold War, but he was determined to see it through to the end.

Thirty-one hits to two (much harder than really necessary) hits. America was doing reasonably well. If he kept up the pace, he'd probably end up winning, or at least impressing Prussia into thinking he could handle keeping the sword.

At forty, though, the third hit came, and America found himself flying into the wall at the sheer force of the hit. His head struck the wall, and had he not managed to keep his superpower status even in that world, he probably would have lost consciousness. Fortunately, Germany seemed to realize that, and quickly stood up.

"_Prussen_!" Germany roared. "You have had your fun, now let him get what he came here for! If he can still _walk_ after all that, that is!"

Prussia looked conflicted despite himself. "The kid can handle himself pretty well, bruder. He'll say if it gets too much, won't you?"

The question was directed at America, who'd cleared his head enough to answer back. "Yeah, yeah. But I'm kinda in a hurry, y'know? So, uh…"

"Just give him the sword," Germany said firmly. "He has earned it by now. I only wish that I would have had a soldier who put up with that much back when I was a general."

America felt almost tempted to ask, but as he'd just said he was in a hurry—and he really was—it would have been hardly appropriate to ask for this world's Germany's backstory.

Prussia just sighed, crossing his arms. "Well, I suppose you can keep the sword you were fighting with today, so long as you take good care of it, ja?" Germany blinked up at him, shocked, and whispered something furiously to his older brother. Prussia, however, just waved it off. "Hey, you said he earned it, remember? So let me have my fun." To America, he added, "And you can keep this long term. Might as well, y'know? You never know when another girl's going to come crashing into the forest." He looked nostalgic, at that, and America was slightly curious about whether or not he was thinking of Hungary, but kept his mouth shut, instead just nodding.

A few minutes later found America a sheath for his sword, along with a shoulder strap so it wouldn't slip. It also found America with his undershirt back on, much to his dismay (as he'd almost forgotten by then how overly warm it was).

"Now, kid, you be careful over in that forest, ja?" Prussia said surprisingly firm, putting a hand on America's shoulder. "I wouldn't want to have to tell your bruder that something bad happened to you and that I had a hand in it because I gave you the sword."

America bit his lip, nodding. "Y…Yeah. But, uh, if something does happen, you'll take care of her and mom for me, right?"

"Kesesesesese," Prussia snickered. "You're such a cute kid, thinking about these things so seriously. But ja, ja, I'll make sure they're protected if something happens to you. But, uh, don't let anything happen to _you_, all right?"

America nodded again, then ran out the front door. He had a _princess_ to save, after all. So he hurried around the beaten pathway to the forest, only to come across a rather intimidating cluster of trees. He beat them down, though, and quickly headed further into the grassy meadow waiting on the other side.

There was a bridge, though, keeping him from actually reaching the forest, and America hesitated. Looking closer, the forest really did look pretty scary…

But America had a _princess_ to save, darn it! He had that thought in mind for about two full minutes and had gotten about halfway across the bridge when he heard a menacing thump from inside the cluster of trees (in addition to muffled yelps that sounded oddly familiar…), and decided that he'd go save his _princess_ as quickly as he could!...

…Right after he got his shield.

Yes.

He was a hero, after all, and everyone knew that you couldn't be a hero without a _shield_.

Pff. _Noobs_.

**XXX**

**Aaand that about wraps up this chapter. The next one will not be quite as adventure-y, and will focus more about America's good-byes. **

**Also. **

**Read and review for America referring to England as a princess? Or maybe the awesome backwards face-plant-into-a-wall America did in the Prussian Spar? **


	4. Chapter 4

**I lied. The goodbyes aren't until next chapter. Sorry about that… I tend to get times mixed up.**

**XXX**

The trip back to his home had been uneventful, but he couldn't resist looking back at the houses scattered about the island before entering his own. It wouldn't hurt to at least see who was in each house before he left, right? Right! Especially because England was probably still unconscious…

America pushed the thought away. After all, he still had a job to do, and worrying wouldn't get him anywhere. Especially when there were so many things different in this 'version' of the game…

He found himself on his porch before he knew what he was doing, and climbed the ladder to the second floor just as quickly.

"Uh," America tripped over his words, having not rehearsed them very well. It wasn't because he was worried, though, right? He was the hero! Heroes don't worry! "I was… kinda hopin' I could get a shield, yeah?"

"You say you want a shield, mn?" Native America asked, raising a delicate eyebrow. "I… suppose it couldn't hurt for you to use it, just for the day, seeing as you've already gotten a wooden sword, but…" She paused, looking America in the eye. "Dear One, I think you might be taking this 'Hero' thing a little too seriously."

America fidgeted. "Well…"

"No, no," she scolded. "Don't allow me to spoil your fun. But I daresay this is a family heirloom, and if you're just going to take it on some 'adventure' with your brother, no doubt corrupting him, too, well… I don't like refusing people things on their birthdays, especially one as special as this, but…"

He sighed. "I… guess you're right." Besides, he had a feeling that he wasn't supposed to get the shield yet, exactly. Wasn't there a cut-scene of Tetra—er, England? He was confused at this point and wondered if he should really bother with the proper name—telling him that he couldn't go on-board the Pirate Ship without a proper shield? So America sighed again, then jumped down the ladder.

However, right as he was about to go into one of the houses, he heard a rustling from the forest, accompanied by a rather ominous flutter of birds, who'd scattered at the noise. Knowing that there was only one person who could have caused that racket—as they were the only person in the forest—America suddenly panicked, running past the houses, over the shallow-watered bridge, quickly tackling the winding, uphill trail that led to the Forest.

America paused at the bridge, though. After all, the next time he'd come out here, he'd have to see Canada get kidnapped… And America was pretty sure that he'd lunge to try to save his brother, already knowing the outcome or not.

But there was another rustle from the forest and another scattering of birds, and America steeled himself. After all, he had to get England to safety first. And… maybe, maybe, if he hurried, he could tell Canada to stop? Maybe?

It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep America's courage up, and he hurriedly crossed the bridge, entering the dark entrance to the woods without too much trouble.

He heard his first enemy approaching, and quickly took out his sword, taking a few clumsy but passable strikes. Fortunately the monster was even dumber and weaker than it looked, and America finished it off with ease, strangely proud when he heard its shriek before it vanished into black smoke. Still, America didn't check to see if it had left anything, as another rustling had startled him, forcing him back into action.

He met a few other foes on the way, but they were all just as easy to destroy as the first. Perhaps keeping his superpower status was what made everything so easy? America didn't have time to ponder it, though, as his thoughts halted the second he saw England—

He was dangling.

By his belt.

And it was a girl's belt, for sure.

…Were those flip-flops?

America hardly had time to react, though—because whether or not England did, America was perfectly fine with him wearing those khakis, because _dang_ they made him look good—because he was suddenly aware that England was probably going to fall at any second. Since, of course, that was how things worked in the games.

He waited a moment.

Nothing.

Five minutes passed, and still, there was no sign of the branch breaking.

America paused, tapping his chin lightly. Because, of course, the only way England was getting down was by falling, right? And obviously America was going to catch him. So how exactly was he going to get him to fall if he was actually rather secure up there? And then it hit him.

"HEY! ENGLAND!" America shouted, immediately startling the nation. "ARE THOSE GIRL CLOTHES YOU'RE WEARING? THEY LOOK GOOD ON YOU, THOUGH, SO I DON'T MEAN TO DISCOURAGE YOU. JUST THOUGHT YOU SHOULD KNOW THAT YOU WERE WEARING THEM!"

England, true to form, had been both startled and enraged. Because, of course, if the surprise didn't make him fall from shock, then the rage at being called feminine would do it.

And, of course, that rage had dissipated into fear during the fall, and America watched as he yelled—not screamed! _The_ _United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland_ _did_ not, under any circumstances, _scream_. And obviously not _like a girl_, either and reading only the italics would not make it 'the truth' blast it all—while he fell. Obviously America hadn't quite anticipated him being that high up…

Still, America caught him before he hit the ground, though England did _not_ seem to be happy about it.

"PUT ME DOWN YOU GIT!" England shouted, furiously hitting any part of America that he could reach. As he was in the superpower's arms, that was quite a bit of him. Particularly his face. America was mulling over the implications that England, dressed as a female, suddenly felt the urge to slap him across the face—sort of—while yelling obscenities (not written), but then America was suddenly aware that he probably was supposed to say something, lest people think him mute, like the real Link.

"The Hero will put you down whenever he so chooses," America said, as arrogantly as he dared.

England glared at him. "And if you don't want me to stab you, I recommend that you put me down." He reached for the dagger on his belt. "_Now_."

"Okay, geez," America finally backed off, lowering the island nation until England was on the ground again. "You don't have to be so prickly about it, Princess!"

England stiffened, then brought his eyes back up to meet America's, an ice-cold glare if there ever was one (and America had seen a _lot_ over the years, particularly Russia's). "_What did you just call me?_"

"Uh, Princess?" America offered. "'Cause, well, spoiler alert, but you're kinda acting as the Princess in this game." He paused, suddenly wondering if England had really entered this game with him at all. "Er, wait, are you _my world's_ England? Or someone that just looks like him?"

"I daresay I'm '_your world's'_ England," England snapped, offended. "Unless I have a clone running around somewhere? Now if you'll kindly explain to me what, exactly, is going on, I'd appreciate it."

"Oh! Right." America paused again. "But… I'd really appreciate some further clarification." He frowned, looking England up and down as if to check for abnormalities. He found a few, mainly the tan—because England was _England_, so why the heck would he have a tan? But then again, he was a Pirate now, wasn't he?—and the piercings… and, of course, the clothing. Fortunately, beyond that, England seemed to be pretty much the same. Still, he'd have to check… "Would you be opposed if I kissed you right now?" He asked, cautious.

"I'm your lover, aren't I?" England glared at him, suspicious. "And you should know by now that you don't have to ask. Lord only knows that there's something seriously wrong with our relationship, however 'Special' it may be, if you feel like you have to ask for affection—"

England didn't have much more of a chance to say anything, though, because America was suddenly kissing him, harder than he had in quite some time. Finally—and all too quickly—they broke apart, though, and England furrowed his eyebrows at America, who looked suspiciously relieved.

"Love, is there… something wrong? You look all out of sorts…" England hurriedly corrected himself, "I mean to say, you look a bit too content just after kissing me. Sure, we may have managed to get ourselves tossed into some sort of other world, but you seem… abnormally worried. Is there something you're not telling me?"

America paused, nervously tapping his index fingers together, and grinning all too unconvincingly. "Ahh… I might have, y'know, possibly… gotten-us-sucked-into-The-Legend-of-Zelda-The-Wind-Waker-by-accident?" He rushed out, all in one breath.

England was, of course, used to those nervous, rushed statements and mentally translated it. "You… what? How is that…"

Just then, though, Spain appeared, suddenly lighting up at having spotted England. "Ah! Amiga—er, Amigos, if it was you who saved our dear Capitan England!" Spain called, beaming at the two before rushing over.

England visibly flinched. "I don't need you looking out for me," he muttered when Spain was within earshot. The Spaniard's face quickly fell at that, though, and England mentally sighed, correcting himself. "I'm not mad because you looked for me. Just… I was having a bit of a moment here."

"Ooooh," Spain winked. "Well, I suppose if you want to have a short fling with a mysterious island boy, I'm hardly going to stop you. However, I expect you to be on board the ship before midnight. You can bring him along if you want, though. So long as his parents say yes, it's okay with me!" In a voice that America couldn't hear, though, he whispered to England, "He is so cute! I wouldn't mind taking him for a little while, after you're done with him! His face is so red, and he's wearing green… he's just like a little tomato!"

England turned redder than America, at that, and viciously elbowed Spain in the stomach. "What are you talking about? America will be mine, just mine! And aren't you with Romano, anyways?"

Spain blinked at him, confused. "I get why you would want to keep America all to yourself, but, amiga…" he paused. "Who is this 'Romano'?"

Both America and England paled at that, previous blushes vanishing in a sudden, ice-cold feeling. Because if Spain didn't know who Romano was… then something was seriously wrong with this Universe.

"What do you mean… 'Who is Romano'?" America asked, voice shaking.

"Ah… do I know you, amigo?" Spain asked, glancing at America uneasily and furrowing his eyebrows. "I don't think I've met you before…"

America remembered, in a flash, that they were still in a videogame, and momentarily quelled his fear of Spain not knowing who Romano was—_Don't worry about it, America, they probably just haven't met, it'll be fine, maybe you can even fix it while you're here_—to stand up a bit straighter, regaining control of his voice, too.

"What do you mean you've n—" England was cut off by a light kick to his leg and a sudden 'don't say _anything'_ look from America.

"Ahaha… sorry, I thought I'd seen you somewhere before. I'm sure I just met someone who looked a lot like you sometime, sorry for the mistake," America corrected easily, a bright grin overtaking his features.

It seemed to satisfy Spain, because he smiled, too, just as easily. "Alright, Amigo. You seem like a strange one, but then again, England is, too, so I think you'll be happy together, especially as she said she wants to keep you all for herself!"

America was suddenly aware that Spain was referring to England as a girl. He paused, shooting an uneasy glance at England, who seemed just as confused as he was. However, America had a feeling that they should probably just go along with it. "Uh… yeah, he…s-_she_! _She's_ really nice so far. I wouldn't mind going along with her for a while…"

"Then that settles it, amigo!" Spain beamed, before offering ushering to the exit and prompting them up and out of the forest. England and America followed readily. "Now, let's get down to the island so we can ask your parents, chico. I remember being on this Island before… there were a few very nice people here. I wonder…" He turned to America, smiling wider. "Say, does a man named 'Prussia' live here?"

England and America exchanged a look, both wondering if this was this world's attempt at recreating the Bad Touch Trio.

"Er…" America hesitated. "He… does…" And he chose not to mention the bruises—_mainly on his ego_—he'd received from Prussia's 'training'.

"He and I will have to meet up sometime while we're here, then!" Spain said, cheerful as ever.

By then they'd reached the Forest's exit, and they all blinked at the sunlight.

America, however, took a cautious step forward. He knew what was coming, after all—

And true to form, seconds after they'd come out of the forest, America saw Canada standing, halfway across the bridge. He waved, and America forced back tears as he waved back. He was fairly certain that England noticed his expression, as there was the start of a question behind him (little more than a "Wh…" sound), but it was cut off by a sudden shriek.

The Bird from before was back.

And it was swooping in to kidnap Canada.

And there was nothing America could do about it but take one step too many towards him as Canada was lifted into the air with a scream of "BIG BROTHER!"

America's foot had slipped off the edge in his desperation to get to his brother, and there was a distinct falling sensation as he cried out a rather desperate, "Canada!"

Before America could fall off the cliff, though, he felt someone wrap their arms around his middle, and he was guided back to safety, but nothing could keep him from watching the Bird decrease in size as it flew off, carrying America's little brother with it.

After several minutes had passed, however, America found himself forced to look away from the sky—where he could still see a black dot in the distance—and was made to look into a set of green, worried eyes.

"Are you… going to be all right?" England asked hesitantly, tilting America's head towards him by the chin and putting his other hand on the superpower's shoulder.

"I will be," America mumbled, knocking England's hands off of him and burying his face in his hands, "when I get him to safety."

By that point, actual tears were forming in America's eyes, and England sighed, pulling him into a hug. "It'll be all right, love. You'll save him, I'm sure."

"Yeah, but it's gonna take forever!" He moaned, throwing his hands into the air with just a twinge of helplessness. England stayed wisely silent. "And I bet I'm gonna have to face Ganondorf, too… And you're probably going to be in danger, and I'll be alone on a boat for weeks…"

"What are you talking about?" England snapped. "I'm not going to leave you alone to find your brother! I'm coming with you, obviously."

America stared at him.

Would it really be okay to deviate from the 'set plot-line' so much? Because from the way England was staring at him, it seemed like he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

One glance up to Spain, though, said something was very off about everything.

"Tell me, _amigo_," and the term was said with an ice-cold tone. "Why is it that you seem to know England better than I do after only a day of knowing hi…_her_?"

Both America and England blinked at his mistake in gender terms. They'd been fairly certain that Spain thought England was a girl…

Clearly something strange was happening here. Stranger, even, than just being trapped in a videogame.

**XXX**

**Ohohoho. Plot! I have it! Sorta! Well, more than 'sort of'. I do know what I'm doing, after all. **


	5. Chapter 5

Spain backed away from the two of them, warily eyeing America before shooting a glance to England, as if wondering why he wasn't coming with. "Amiga! We must go. This boy…" He paused, considering the American. "He seems to know too much. It is not safe."

"What are you talking about?" England asked, narrowing his eyes. "I will give you until the count of three to explain what's going on, or else you have no chance of me going with you."

"Amiga…" Spain warned. "Don't pretend you don't know what's going on."

"But I don't!" England shouted. "I just woke up here this morning!"

Spain, of course, thought he meant the forest and therefore thought England was saying that he had amnesia, and softened his expression immediately. America knew better but didn't say anything, as Spain staying in the dark about their origins was probably for the best.

"Oh, amiga…" Spain sighed, then turned to America, who was fortunately using his best 'clueless' expression. "I must make you swear to tell no one about what I am about to tell you." He paused. "Because if you want to try your luck with our dear Capitan… then you must know something about her. She is… actually a he."

America leveled him with a blank stare. "Well, I kind of figured. Most girls don't have eyebrows that thick." England smacked him in the arm, but America grinned nonetheless. "'Sides, I, uh, figure it doesn't matter all that much in the end, yeah? He's… a person." _Nation_, he mentally corrected, but the sentiment remained nonetheless. "And it feels like I've, uh, known him for longer than I really have…"

Spain let out a relieved sigh at that, smiling easily. "Well, if that's settled, I have to say something else, too."

America and England waited, both with baited breath, for Spain to continue.

"England is also a legendary prince. His ancestor was the great Princess Zelda, and her power stayed within the bloodline. As of now, he is the only remaining pure-blooded royal in these seas. And, I'm sure you know the prophecy," Spain said, nodding to America, who was, of course, decked out in the 'Ancient Hero's' clothes. "They say a Great Hero will rise up… I suppose with all the little boys being kidnapped, probably in search of this prince, here," he nodded at England, "then that means the Hero will be coming soon." He paused again. "And with all the boys being kidnapped, you understand why we dressed England, here, as a girl. And you understand why your own brother was kidnapped…" Spain sighed at America's frown, having reminded him of the previous ten minutes. "Lo siento."

"It's fine." America sighed, glancing at England, who seemed to have absorbed just as much if not more from this lecture. "And, uh, I guess you guys still want me to go with you, then? Because there's no way I'm going to just stand by and have him get kidnapped."

"I suppose you guys really are the reincarnations of the Princess and her Hero, then," Spain said with a soft smile. "You're even dressed as him…"

At this, England finally spoke up. "I am not a _princess_, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't go around implying things like that." He crossed his arms with a huff. "You'd do well to remember that."

"Aw, you know you love it, princess," America said with a grin, promptly ignoring the half-hearted assault to his person. "And besides, I… uh, should probably get a move on. Still need to get some stuff and say goodbyes…"

"Who do you have to say goodbye to?" England suddenly asked, furrowing his (magnificent) eyebrows.

"My mother," America said, voice suddenly thick with emotion.

England softened immediately. "Yes… Yes, you should go do that."

And it was then that all three of them noticed that they were trapped on top of a cliff with no way down, as the bridge was out from when the Bird had swooped down and kidnapped Canada.

"So, amigos," Spain cleared his throat. "Does anyone know how we should get down?"

XXX

A rather complicated escape (involving England's belt, a dagger, the roof of the nearest house and more rocks than any of them ever wanted to have to see again) later found them safe on the ground at last.

America took off immediately towards his house, where his mother was waiting for him, arms open wide as a silent invitation for a hug. America didn't hesitate before running to her and giving her one last goodbye hug. "I have to go find him, mom."

"I know, Dear One," Native America said softly. "And I won't stop you. Just… be safe, will you?"

"Will do," America said, smiling faintly. "And… And I'll make you proud. I promise."

"Dear One…" she sighed, giving him one last squeeze before releasing him, but still keeping her palms on his shoulders. "You have already made me proud. You will be a wonderful Hero. But be as careful as you possibly can be."

"I will," America agreed. "And if it's all the same to you, I'll take that shield now…"

Native America smiled. "I have it right here for you," she pulled it from where it rested against the door-frame and handed it to America with a flourish. "You'll use it when you need to, won't you?"

"'Course," he said with a light laugh. "And I'll try to stay out of as many fights as I can so I won't have to use it. That make you feel better?"

"Infinitely." Native America pulled him into a stronger embrace, kissing the part of his head where his hair met the seam of his hat. "Now… go be a hero. You'll be great."

"Thanks, mom." America nervously pulled away, then walked the short distance to where Spain was waiting with England.

"So, how did it go?" England asked quietly, extending his elbow as an invitation for America to link their arms, which he promptly did.

"She's letting me go," America said, linking their hands and fingers together as well. "She's… letting me do what I need to."

"She's proud of you already," England offered. "Just as I am."

"Yeah." America bit his lip, nervous. "That's what I'm counting on."

XXX

Boarding the ship had been a less than exciting experience, even for America, who had never been on a boat save for combat during the Second World War. Still, he was looking forward to the adventure, if nothing else, and stepped onto the ship without a complaint.

America couldn't quite keep himself from staying on-board the deck as they departed from Outset, though (was it called Outset in this world? He'd forgotten to ask… perhaps he could just look at a map later). After all, it meant one last look at the world he was leaving behind, in a sense. If nothing else, it meant he could see his mother one last time before he got mixed up in more adventures.

He vaguely wondered if he'd ever get to see who all the people on Outset were representing. Fortunately, it seemed like the whole island had come out to say goodbye, so America didn't have to worry about that.

Seychelles waved to him, a pot on her head, and the man who lived by the un-cut grass was a person that America was a bit surprised to see (Greece? And had all of those cats been hiding in that un-cut grass the whole time?). The family that he was supposed to have gotten pigs (long story…) was represented, oddly enough, by Sweden, Finland and Sealand.

But, of course, the only person he really wanted to see was Native America, and after a moment's fruitless searching, she finally stepped outside, giving a cheerful—if a bit hesitant—wave to her son.

America waved until the entire island was out of sight.

"So, love," England finally said, coming up to his side and greeting him with his usual kiss on the cheek. "Are you ready to tell me what, exactly, is going on?"

America laughed nervously. "Right to the point as always, huh?" He hesitantly looked around, but the rest of the pirates—since when were England's brothers pirates?—were already busy, and there was no one to interrupt. "All right, I guess…"

Before he could say another word, he was swept away below-deck and into the Captain's Cabin.

"Now," England said, firmer than before. "_What the bloody hell is going on_?"

"Weeeeeell," America drawled, trying to look inconspicuous as he clapped a hand on the other's shoulder. "Yesterday evening, I finished my videogame. And then called you. And then got yelled at by you for no good reason—"

"I daresay there was a good reason, you dolt," England cut in.

America promptly talked over him. "—before you finally found it in your heart to be a good person and took a flight over. You gave me a game that you said Japan got for me, a Wind Waker special edition or something like that, I wasn't paying attention because it was too shiny." He paused, clearing his through, embarrassed. "And, uh, I put it in and right when it was about to start the game, I saw a remote with a button at the bottom." America chose not to add that there was a sign on the button that told him specifically not to push it. "I pushed that button and, poof, I wake up on the look-out tower on Outset Island with Canada kicking me."

England mulled over that for a moment. "And, I'm assuming you know how to… say, _beat_ this game?"

"Yup!" America said confidently, but deflated a moment later. He slumped a bit, nervously scratching the back of his head. "Er, actually… There are some sorta weird things going on… things that weren't really supposed to happen…"

"Like?" England prompted, carefully considering the superpower, as if this was all a test and he knew all the right answers and was already sure that America had failed.

"There was no story about how you hid your gender…" America hesitated. "And Germany never intervened when Prussia almost knocked me out—"

"He did what?"

America ignored him. "And the family on the island was supposed to have a second child, and we weren't supposed to know eachother, but that one's kind of obvious, and there was this bird thing that really saved my neck…"

England frowned. "…But it's keeping to the main storyline so far, right?"

"It will if you don't come with me to the Forsaken Fortress," America said with a shrug. "But… well…"

"You want me to come with you?" England expression softened, and he gently coaxed America into an upright position, instead of the defeated slump he'd entered. "I will if you want, you know."

"Yeaaaaah…" America drawled. "But it doesn't matter if I want to or not, see? It just matters that I get to save Canada and the rest of the people here…"

"It matters to me," England snapped. "If they're depending on you—and you look a few years younger in this world, now that I think about it—then you deserve to have some say on who you bring with you." And from the way he was standing (feet planted firmly on the floor, one finger pointed, as if he was lecturing the other), America was fairly certain that he was going to be stubborn about this, too.

"Look, England," America practically groaned. "I don't mean to make this sound rude, but I don't want you to get hurt, either, and it seems pretty inevitable since you don't know the first thing about this game!"

"But I know about being a pirate, don't I?" England asked with a raised eyebrow. "And in Medieval Times, Lord only knows how many 'adventures' I went on, so I obviously know how to use a sword. And I know some decent first-aid training, unlike you, and I daresay I felt fairy presences in that forest, so that only adds to the fact that I should be with you, as you can often get mixed up with the wrong types of fairies."

America set his lips in a firm line. "England—"

"Furthermore, you're too naïve to be going alone. Goodness knows how much you're going to let other people get away with mistreating you. So I should be there to help establish… treaties of some sort. Or contracts. I need to ensure that, if you're dead-set on endangering your life for these people, they'll give you favors in return. I will not deal with anyone being ungrateful for what you're giving them. And besides, you obviously don't know how to dress, as it's mid-summer and you're wearing long-sleeves and boots in this weather! Honestly, I don't care how many people you're 'impressing' with that attire, getting around as if you really are the 'Hero of Ancient' that Spain was going on about, but you're going to get heat-stroke if you stay in it, and especially if you don't drink enough water! You're already dehydrated! And look how under-packed you are! How in the world are you going to be able to save the world with so few supplies? And another thing—" England panting by then, finger still extended from having jabbed America in the chest a few times during the lecture.

"…England…" America said, partially numb from shock. "The sixteen-hundreds ended a few centuries ago. Stop trying to pull the 'guardian' card. I'm a big boy now," he teased, reminding the other of the now-prominent height-difference by easily ruffling England's hair.

England blinked, apparently snapping out of it. "…My… sincerest apologies, America." He cleared his throat behind his hand, partially to cover the embarrassed blush he just knew was starting to pink his cheeks. "Yes, well, my point remains nonetheless. I refuse to let you go alone. It's too dangerous."

"So I've heard," America said with a shrug.

"America…" England warned, narrowing his eyes. When America didn't respond beyond 'innocently' brushing his nails on his shirt, England huffed and turned his back to the superpower. "I don't see why you have to be so difficult about this."

"Weeeeeeell," America drawled. "It might have something to do with me not knowing how different this world is from the games, and you not knowing anything about the game at all." He shrugged. "Personally I wouldn't mind you going along, but according to the game, you're not supposed to."

"Tell me, America," England said, turning back around, suddenly wary. "How does the character I'm holding the place of usually act?"

"Who, Tetra?" America asked, raising an eyebrow. "Uh, well. She's kinda mean at the start, actually. Always snapping at Link—the character I'm posing as—and ordering him around. You can tell she has a heart, though, since she gives him this… oracle thing that lets them communicate. She doesn't really talk to him on it much, though, aside from when Link's in the Fortress… Once he's out she doesn't talk to him through it, like, ever." America grinned. "Actually she kinda acts like you. Y'know, you're both pirates, you both have an attitude problem, you both are perfectly fine with stabbing someone…"

"Oi!" England objected. "That's…"

"Totally true?" America said with a grin. "Plus? She's a total control freak, doesn't take orders from anyone, prefers to give a bunch of orders and probably would lecture anyone that she liked, instead of being up front with them, is overly protective of things she cares about—"

Even England couldn't deny that it did sound quite a bit like him. "Yes, well, I suppose we have certain similarities."

America practically beamed, dancing around the island nation before hugging him around the arms, partially lifting him off the ground. "And here I thought you weren't the agreeable type~"

"Sod off, you bloody wanker," England muttered, but didn't squirm against the embrace.

A few minutes passed, both lost in thought—or, England was lost in thought; America was probably just doing a good impression of someone who was thinking—before restlessness set in.

"Say, America," England finally broke the silence. "It's getting rather late, and I don't doubt that you're tired, if you were training with Prussia and fighting off the monsters in the forest. What say we see if there's anything to eat around here and then call it a day, mn?"

America brightened at that, slinging an arm around England's shoulder. "That'd be awesome."

XXX

Dinner, as it turned out, was being cooked by Spain, and fortunately not by any of England's brothers (as, while they weren't quite as bad as England himself, they were still not very good at cooking).

However, England and America seemed to have missed the memo that England almost never left his cabin. It was apparently a huge surprise to see England willingly go anywhere near his brothers, and when they entered the room, everyone fell silent.

After a few beats, though, Scotland interrupted the quiet. "Well it's abou' time ye showed up! Honest, keepin' us up in 'ere, withnae see'n ye for mont's?" He mock-pouted. "Are we tha' bad a' brot'ers, England?"

"Yes, well, I'm sure that whatever made me not want to eat with you, it was your own fault," England replied in his usual tone.

His brother glanced at eachother, uneasy. Finally, Wales spoke up. "Is Spain tellin' the truth about your amnesia? D'you even remember wot it was we fought 'bout?"

"No…" England said slowly, mentally thanking the 'amnesia' excuse. He hoped to milk it for all it was worth, but knowing his brothers, he'd only get away with a little bit. "So what was it that we fought about, pray tell?

His brothers exchanged a glance that he knew all too well.

"Well," Ireland began, only to get interrupted by Northern Ireland.

"Y'see, laddie, y' were—"

"Rantin' and ravin' 'bout somethin' or 'nother—"

"An' we were rantin' an' ravin' wit' ye—"

"But then someone said somethin'—"

"That'd be Scotland, fer yer information—"

"And ye' storm'd outta here, mumblin' somethin' 'bout—"

"Ye' said you didn' 'ave to put up with this an' jus' lef'—"

Really, he should have been used to the twins' constant chatter and their 'speaking-over-the-other' competitions. He'd had to deal with it for years.

But after the day he'd had, it was too frustrating for words.

"BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!" England suddenly snapped.

"Yeesh, Princess," Scotland suddenly piped up, chuckling at his brother's expression. "It's like ye' don't like to list'n te' us or somet'in'!"

"I am not a Princess!" England shouted, stepping forward to bash his brother's nose in like the good, law abiding citizen he was. He was fortunately stopped by America, though, when the superpower yanked on his arm and jerked him back to his previous spot. England whirled his head around, wondering why on earth America would be preventing him from beating the living daylights out of his brother, but America just shrugged.

"You don't want to beat 'im up. Trust me on this."

"What do you mean 'I don't want to beat him up'?" England hissed. "Of course I want to bloody beat him up, you wanker! He called me a princess!"

America, despite England's murderous glare, grinned at him. "Weeeeeell," he drawled. "For one, you do make a pretty cute princess. Just sayin'." He caught the fist that had been aimed for his nose, then continued, "And second of all, they're just trying to rile you up. Obviously there's been a misunderstanding, but I have a feeling that they really do have your best intentions at heart."

England stared up at him, blinking in shock. "Did you…"

"What?"

"Did you just make a rational point?" England asked, furrowing his eyebrows as if suddenly it had just been proven that this wasn't America after all.

Before America could reply, though, Scotland piped up once more. "Oi, England! Who's this 'ere boy? Obviously he's good for somet'in' if 'e can get even _ye'_ to shut yer trap!"

"Just _belt up_, Scotland," England muttered. "Just belt up. I don't want to hear another word from you for the rest of the voyage if I can help it." Before anyone else could cut in, he quickly amended his statement. "That means I'll be avoiding you lot if I can possibly do so. Expect to see very little of me, _do you hear_?"

"'E was jus' 'avin' a wee bit a' fun, England!" Northern Ireland said with a pout. "Ye' don' 'ave to take it so personally! Honest, we were just pokin' fun!"

Before Ireland could put his two cents in, too, Wales interrupted, fortunately one of the only ones there that used logic in arguments and prevented fights whenever he could. "If England wants to leave, he can and will. It's an insult t' his pers'n if we try to keep 'im from makin' any decisions."

England nodded at him, grateful for the intervention. He turned and was about to leave—despite America's (stomach's) protest—but they were blocked by Spain.

"Hola, amigos! You are just in time for dinner, no?" He grinned. "I made Enchiladas~!"

England had been about to protest, but America gratefully interrupted. "That'd be awesome, man."

Spain beamed and headed back into the kitchen, presumably to bring out dinner, but England turned back to America with a frown. "We'll talk about this later," he hissed.

"Yeah, but uh, after dinner," America said, rubbing his poor, neglected stomach (as, now that he thought about it, he hadn't eaten at all that day—and he couldn't even remember the last time he did that, and all he knew was that he didn't want anything that traumatic to happen again).

"Fine," England huffed, but allowed America to take his hand and lead him to the table nonetheless.

**XXX**

**Good enough place to stop as any, yeah? Also, I've been working on this for, like, four or five days. I just wanna stop writing this chapter and get on with another scene already. **


	6. Chapter 6

**I didn't mean to neglect this for so long, honest! Just got a bit caught up with a few things. **

**XXX**

Dinner was better than expected, as Spain had cooked and England's brothers seemed genuine about 'playing nice'. Still, neither America nor England could shake the feeling that something was… off.

Finally, Scotland spoke up. "Well? Are'nae ye goin' te', er, go up t' yer Cabin now?"

"What?" England asked, furrowing his eyebrows. He roughly elbowed America, who hadn't even looked up from his fourth serving. America glared at being disrupted, though the effect was slightly ruined by his full cheeks.

"Ye' know, ye', ah, usually sweep yer lover off t'eir feet by now, an' I was just wond'ren when ye' were gonna go an', er, do what ye usually do," Scotland clarified, looking rather awkward as he stirred his drink around. "None o' t'at rings a bell?"

"No, it doesn't," England said firmly, flushing scarlet.

"Your mem'ry must've suffered more'n we thought," Ireland said with a chuckle.

England glared at him, stabbing his empty plate with a fork. It shattered on impact.

America, however, finally had the decency to look up, cheeks still bulging even as his plate was half-empty. "Wu's go'n'n?" (What's going on?)

"We're leaving," England snapped, grabbing his partner's hand and promptly dragging him from the table and out the door, slamming it behind the both of them.

"What was that for?!" America cried after he'd swallowed the rest of his food (already mourning the rest that would no doubt grow cold in his absence). "You didn't have to freak out!"

"My brothers were being incredibly rude," England said with a deep-set frown. "You weren't paying attention so you wouldn't know, but place yourselves in my shoes, would you?"

"Place yourselves in mine!" America protested angrily, forcing his hand away from England's. "I hadn't eaten all day, and you couldn't let me eat as much as I wanted?"

"I doubt that you really need it," England muttered, rolling his eyes at his partner's antics. "No one in the bloody world really needs four servings of anything, much less something as filling as Spain's food."

The American's face heated up in a mix of anger, disbelief and embarrassment. "Stop taking things out on me! You're the one that got all prissy with your siblings!"

"Yes, meanwhile you sat there and didn't defend me." England huffed and crossed his arms. He spared a sullen glance to the door behind them. "Well, it's not like it matters now. Scotland will have already locked the door."

"You're such a jerk!" America shouted, fists clenched tightly by his side. "Can't you say something positive for once?!"

"Why yes, I do believe I can," England said with a roll of his eyes. "I'm rather glad that you kept your mouth shut in there, since at the very least it kept you from saying something stupid in front of my shipmates, as usual."

"You're unbelievable," America snapped, suddenly shoving past his partner with a scowl. "If you wanted to be alone you should've just said so, 'cause don't think that I'll do anything 'cept ignore you. And just so you don't forget? I'm the only one here that you actually get along with, and you just completely wrecked your chances with me on this trip."

"What's that supposed to mean?" England shouted at the quickly retreating form of America, but the other nation didn't even respond as he stormed away, disappearing behind a corner.

After a few minutes had passed, the Brit finally gave up on waiting and turned on his heel, walking the rest of the distance to his cabin.

XXX

"You all right, amigo?" Spain called after America had sulked behind a stack of barrels for the better part of three hours. "You've been back there for a while…"

"'m fine," America muttered, not bothering to even look the Spaniard in the eye.

"Are you hungry?" Spain tried again, evidently unable to leave things as they were. "I can make you something really quick… Or maybe you'd like to keep attacking that piece of wood?"

America glanced at his hand, suddenly aware that he'd been grabbing a splintered piece of driftwood so hard that it had cut his hand in a few different places. "Oh. Didn't notice it."

"You must be pretty depressed if you didn't even know you were doing that. Are you sure there's nothing I can do for you?" Spain asked, crouching down so he wouldn't tower over the other nation.

"Yeah, go back and time and keep that jerk from saying stuff like that," America said with a huff. "Not sure if you heard all of that back there."

"Si, I did." Spain nodded, then tilted his head to the side in confusion. "But… I am wondering here… I thought you only met England yesterday? Aren't things moving a bit fast for you two to be fighting like an old married couple?"

America snorted. "Heh. Wish I could explain that, but unfortunately I can't."

"Why not?" Spain asked. "Who am I going to tell?"

America considered him a moment. "It's a really, really complicated story. I don't understand it myself."

"Then maybe I could help you figure it out," Spain said cheerfully. "What do you say? Give it a shot?"

"Eh, not like I have much to lose," America said with a shrug. "So long as you don't… y'know, freak out and stuff. Alright." He took a deep breath, then smiled for the first time in hours. "Okay. So, it all started when a guy named Japan sent me this really, really awesome video-game through the mail…"

XXX

England devoted the remainder of the night to studying the maps, ship charts and graphs of other sorts in 'his' cabin. As it turned out, there were quite a few things that were rather curious about his maps. For one, although there were several islands on the map, there was quite a bit of blank space to the north of the map.

It wouldn't have been as big of a deal had it simply been unmarked with islands, but it was a curious area for other reasons than just that: the graphing ration suddenly switched.

It had been numbered in an ordinary measurement system before, though England obviously didn't know it as he wasn't actually from that world, but in the land to the north, it was incongruent to the rest of the map.

There was a rather ridiculous difference, too; a much, much longer number to a shorter one (the numbers were in another language).

"What was I playing at, doing something like that?" England asked, curiously turning the map over to check if there were any notes on the back. To his pleasant surprise, there was a very familiar handwriting on the back.

The language, though, was unfamiliar.

England puzzled over it for a moment, as it really was rather odd to see something in his own handwriting that he simply couldn't read. He knew that he'd written it—some version of him had, at least—but it was impossible to understand.

After a few moments of frustration, however, he grabbed a spare piece of paper and started to write on it, wondering if it was possible to know what he'd been writing if he simply made the signs the same.

Thirty minutes passed but he had no such luck.

Eventually, England simply gave up, walking over to his bed and flopping uselessly onto it. He stared up at the ceiling, absolutely refusing to allow himself to think of America—and, of course, the 'not'-mistake he'd made that day.

After nearly an hour, he finally drifted off to sleep, oblivious to what was going on a few rooms over.

XXX

"So… you come from a different world?!" Spain cried, standing up abruptly.

"Yes, I told you that almost an hour ago, now if you'll just listen, this will go a lot quicker—" America sighed, unable to feel truly irritated with the excitable nation—er, not-nation.

"And I'm a representation of a country? Like you?" the Spaniard cried.

"Well, yeah," America said with a chuckle. "Every nation has one. Probably not in this world, but in mine, yeah. That's why I asked you about Romano earlier…"

"You mean I'm dating a beautiful boy named Romano?" Spain cried, obviously thrilled. "What's his name? What's my history with him? What does he look like? Does he blush like a tomato? Is he nice? Does he—"

"Dude, one question at a time," America said with a laugh. "Alright. I'll describe him as best as I can. He's one of two representations for Italy. His brother Italy is the north, Romano is the south."

"Why is he not called Italy if they both make up Italy?" Spain asked, suddenly confused.

"Uh…" America scratched the back of his head. "That's a good question. It probably has a bit to do with his inferiority complex, though…"

"He has an inferiority complex? He sounds so cute!" Spain exclaimed.

"Yeah. It sucks, actually. He's always mad at someone about something. But that's probably because their grandpa, the guy who raised them, Grandpa Rome, had serious favoritism issues and always gave the good stuff to North Italy, we'll just call him Italy, and left Romano with the rest, agriculture and architect. It sort of sucks."

"That's so terrible!" Spain cried, looking a bit more sympathetic than he had the right to look about a stranger. "But—but you said I love him, didn't you? What's our history? How does he feel about me?"

America coughed into his fist, feeling awkward. "Well. Um, you actually sort of had him as a colony—when he was really young—and sort of kind of was a guardian to him. You were probably the first person to actually care about him, even if he didn't like you very much."

Spain was quiet for a little while. "Wait… How old was I?"

"Maybe a young teenager," America shrugged. "But nation ties render any sort of 'familial' thing null and void, else half of all nations would be pedophiles. And seriously? Nations don't age physically unless they get a crap ton of land, or become empires. And even then they really don't age all that much. We usually stop at twenty-seven or so, since the nations that got older than thirty or so all faded."

"Faded?"

America frowned. "Sort of disappeared. A nation-heaven of sorts. It means their empires or nations fell, and they didn't have anything to resurrect out of. Y'see, we can die, but we just come back afterwards, out of our land. But nations who don't have land anymore just die off permanently. It's really sad."

Spain looked rather upset for a moment, before apparently clearing his head a bit. "Does the other-me have a friend that's no longer a nation? It feels like I should ask that question, for some reason…"

"That's weird," America said with a confused frown. "'Cause you do, actually. He's Prussia. You said you knew him, right? But technically we really don't know what he is anymore. His brother is the representation of Germany, but Prussia was dissolved years ago… I guess most people sort of think he just represents Eastern Germany, 'cause of that whole situation with Russia."

"Russia?" Spain asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Ugh, don't get me started on that commie jerk," America said darkly, looking away.

"I won't, then." Spain paused, then brightened. "But you said you'd tell me more about Romano! What's he like, aside from mean and crabby?"

"Well… uh, not much aside from that, to be honest," America said with a nervous laugh. "You're probably the only person he's really nice to, and that's 'cause of the history that you have together, and because you were the first person that seemed to like him for him and didn't shove him aside. He's still sort of mean to you, though."

"And I love him?" Spain asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Yup," America said. At Spain's disappointed face, he quickly added, "But hey, I don't know the full story, and besides, this world's version of Romano is probably way different, since you didn't act as a guardian thing to him."

"That would mean he never had anyone to show him love!" Spain suddenly exclaimed, standing up abruptly. "Lo siento, but I need to talk with England to see if I can go looking for him!"

"W-Wait!" America protested, grabbing hold of Spain's wrist. "You can't tell England that I told you all of this!"

"Why not? Did he ask you not to tell anyone?" Spain asked blankly.

"N-No, not that I'd listen to him anyways or anything, b-but… but…" America stumbled over his words. "But I don't want him to know that I was talking to you like this! He'll think that I missed him or something!"

Spain chuckled and leaned forward, patting the nation on the head before standing up and starting to walk towards the door. "Do yourself a favor and forget about your fight. I may have only known other-England, but I think you and I both know that he's worth it at the end of the day, when you really make him happy."

"Yeah…" America sighed. "But I guess it's getting late, huh? I should probably to down to his room and see if I can have a place to sleep for the night."

"If he doesn't let you in, you can bunk with me," Spain said cheerfully, already to the door. "And you can tell me more about me and Romano!" he called before he went out of earshot.

"Sure thing, pal," America said around a yawn, standing up and stretching out before he walked out from behind the barrels and out the door, taking a left and walking the route that he was sure led to the Captain's Cabin.

After nearly getting lost a few times, America finally found the Captain's Cabin. He knocked lightly on the door, but when he got no response he turned the handle and entered, thankful that it wasn't locked.

"England?" America asked quietly, squinting in the darkness. Upon further examination, there was a familiarly shaped lump on the bed, and he sighed. Taking care that the wood didn't creak under him, America took a few steps forward until he was right next to the bed. "You asleep? Or just ignoring me?"

"Go away, America," England growled, obviously unhappy at being woken.

"No can do. There's nowhere else for me to sleep," America lied. Then again, he wasn't particularly fond of sharing with Spain, so technically it wasn't really a lie. Technically.

"Well there's nowhere for you to sleep in here, the bed's too small," England muttered, not bothering to turn around to meet his partner face-to-face.

"I don't think I'd be taking up _that_ much space," America teased, lightly poking England in the ribs. "Besides, I'm the one who's supposed to be mad at you and forcing you to sleep on the couch."

"My cabin, my rules," England said firmly, smacking America's hands away to keep him from poking him anymore. "Now go away."

"Come on, please?" America asked, his pleading eyes visible even in the darkness. "I know you're mad at me, but this is the only place that I can sleep…"

England didn't move for the longest time, staying determinedly silent, but after a while he finally relented, scooting over closer to the wall. America crawled under the blanket gratefully, replacing the sheets over the top of them with a smile. Still, he wasn't about to push his luck and made sure that there was at least a few inches of space between them.

"Thanks," America mumbled against the pillow.

England said nothing, but America knew it didn't mean much: England didn't often say 'you're welcome' even at the best of times.

It wasn't long before they'd both fallen asleep.

XXX

The next day approached with the rising sun, and even though America had been the last to fall asleep, he was the first to wake, since he was facing the window.

It wasn't until a few minutes had passed that he noticed England's arms had gone around him some time in the night. America smiled, relieved that, even in an unconscious action, England had forgiven him. Still, it wouldn't do for England to wake up and find them like that, so America carefully disentangled himself from England's arms and got out of bed.

He didn't leave before pressing a quick kiss to the other's forehead, though.

It didn't take long for America to find his shoes, and when he'd pulled them on he quickly exited the room, closing the door softly behind himself.

America walked around for a few minutes, trying to find the kitchen so he could make some breakfast. He'd forgotten the ship's layout, though, and spent quite some time trying to figure out how to get there.

It was only good luck that led him to run into Spain.

"Buenos dias!" Spain called cheerfully, waving to the nation. "How are you this fine morning?"

America grinned at the familiar face, easily falling into step beside the Spaniard. "I'm going fine. Sorta hungry, though. Where's the kitchen again?"

"I'll take you there," Spain said with a smile. "Is England still asleep?"

"Yup. Guess he was pretty tired. He should be up in a little while, though. He was never much for sleeping in for too long," America said. "How long have you been up, though?"

"Not much longer than yourself, I'd assume. I usually get up this early, though. Someone has to cook, after all, and no offense to the Brittania family, but I don't like their 'cooking'." Spain chuckled, taking a right. America followed, and it wasn't long before they'd reached the kitchen. "So, I'm going to assume that your sleeping arrangements weren't a problem?"

"It wasn't terrible." America shrugged. "Anyways… How long will it be 'till we get where we're goin'?"

"That depends on where you plan on heading, amigo," Spain said with a laugh. "You only said 'north' yesterday. We've been following the general direction of the bird, but we'll need more than that to go on. D'you have any idea where your brother is?"

America laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. "Actually, yeah. I have a pretty good idea… You've heard of the Forsaken Fortress, haven't you?"

At Spain's sudden change of mood and abrupt stop, America couldn't help but be a bit worried.

"…Dude?" the American asked, furrowing his eyebrows. "You okay?"

"I am… sorry, but did I hear you correctly?" Spain asked, face pale.

"Forsaken Fortress, yeah. Why, what's so bad about it?" America asked. "I don't, um, really know the legends. All I know is that I heard something about the kids being taken there…"

Before he could acknowledge what he'd done wrong, he heard Spain storm out of the room, slamming a door behind him.

"…Was it something I said?"

**XXX**

**Uhm. Long time no update. Toodles!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hahaha… Yeah, sorry for the lack of updates. Unfortunately I've gotten caught up with the Kink meme… as well as getting sucked into tumblr. Do you know how difficult it is to click out of that site?! There's gotta be a maze to the red x in the corner, I swear… **

**Anyways. You didn't come here for the author's comments. Here's the next chapter. **

* * *

England had been peacefully sleeping inside the deck when he felt the ship suddenly jerk to the right. Or perhaps it was the left—it'd really been too long since he'd sailed, if he couldn't figure out which one was starboard, after all.

Still, it spurred something into action, and it didn't take long at all for him to slip his boots back on and crash through the door, running down the hall and into the room with the ship's wheel.

"What happened?" England asked, hardly even out of breath.

However, he was surprised to find no accident on hand—no one was even in the room with him, so obviously it wasn't anything to do with the steering itself…

He had a bad feeling in his gut, but ignored it for long enough to keep rationality. After all, it was highly unlikely that America would be behind this. They'd mainly made up last night, even if they hadn't actually talked anything out. Still, there was little doubt in his mind that if his brothers were bothering America that the American nation would retaliate.

So England hurried through the ship, checking nearly every room until he found the one he was looking for, and England couldn't quite deny that some part of him had expected what he saw.

England's brothers were… well, not so much surrounding America as taking turns fighting him, while America easily took their punches and retaliated with some of his own. However, Northern Ireland appeared to be knocked unconscious some ways away, leaving England to guess that America had thrown him into the wall and that had caused the disturbance in their sailing.

Spain, meanwhile, wasn't participating in the fight. England couldn't put his finger on why, especially as the Spanish nation (or, not nation? It was so confusing here) looked angry, though somewhat resigned. England put it out of his mind, though, instead focusing on America, who was still taking on the rest of his brothers.

He really had to hand it to his American lover, though. He'd obviously taken on all four of them, and only three remained, and even then, England's brothers looked tired and rather beat up, as if they'd all been fighting for quite some time. But America wasn't without his injuries, either. England knew him too well for any half-hearted cover-ups. He had a distinct limp and his glasses had been knocked off, probably in the same swing that gave him that nasty black eye.

However, after watching for a few minutes, he started to see all of them getting more and more exhausted, and England couldn't bear to watch any of them get hurt any more.

"Will someone please explain to me what the problem is?" He demanded, stepping into the room, unhesitantly walking directly towards the brawl. When the fighting didn't immediately cease, he reached forward, grabbed the fist of the one most blatantly fighting—Scotland—and easily twisted it far behind the other nation's (non-nation's?) back, causing Scotland to drop to his knees to avoid having his shoulder dislocated.

Finally, everyone in the room quieted.

"That's better," England said with a satisfied nod. "Now, an explanation, please?"

Surprisingly, it was Spain who spoke up. "America here is trying to take us to the Forsaken Fortress."

England glanced at his lover, who looked rather confused, as if he didn't know what the big deal was. Still, even England, who knew nothing about this world, couldn't deny that the name sounded rather… chilling. "I'm afraid I don't remember much of this place. Now either explain why you're attacking my lover or find someone else who'll tell me what's going on."

Spain glared at him, and England wondered for a moment if Spain saw through his faulty memory lie. Still, when he spoke up, it was without much venom. "The Forsaken Fortress is a bad omen. No one knows exactly how many men have died there, sailors and pirates alike. But whenever a captain dies, their ship is kept as a trophy. There are… nearly ten ships there, my Captain."

England gave him a bored look. "And you're attacking my lover, why?"

"Because no one has made it out of there alive!" Ireland roared, shoving America onto the ground in his haste to get in England's face.

Needless to say, it wasn't a smart thing to do.

The brawl was over almost before it began. England unhanded Scotland, who dropped to the ground and immediately attended to his possibly sprained arm (as it had been held in a terrible position for quite some time). But right as Ireland was about to deck him a good one—aimed for his stomach, probably—England side-stepped him and gave Ireland a good elbow to the back, easily knocking the already unbalanced nation-or-non-nation to the floor.

Still, Ireland got up fairly quickly and tried to continue brawling. England fixed this with a quick uppercut to the jaw, but not before Ireland had managed to score a hit to England's shoulder, quite hard enough to bruise, though fortunately not hard enough to cause too terrible an injury. Ireland's jaw, though, wasn't as fortunate.

To add insult to injury, England grabbed his brother by the shirt collar and asked, casual as ever, "Say… If no one's gotten out alive, who's telling the stories, mn?"

Before Ireland could think to reply, England more-shoved-than-released him, allowing Ireland to slump to the ground.

"So, anyone else care to pick up where Spain left off?" England asked, looking almost frighteningly calm. No one spoke immediately, but finally it seemed that America couldn't say quiet for much longer.

"England…" he said warningly. "How about we make this a slightly more private discussion? That way no one else gets hurt."

England hardly gave America so much as a glance, more looking over the top of his head. "No. I want to know what's going on, from the people who know what's happening." He paused, and added, a bit more menacingly, "And I want to know it now."

This time it didn't take long at all—Spain quickly spoke up. "No problem, amigo. However, I do suggest that we make this a private conversation, America and you included." At the slight protests from England's brothers, he added, "None of you need to hear this. You know the story, and I'd prefer if I didn't have another brawl on hand. No one else needs to get hurt, mis amigos."

America hesitated but seemed to agree; England had more objections, though he didn't voice them and even complied, though grudgingly. So Spain led them, quickly and quietly, down the hall and into the room with the thickest walls.

He didn't hesitate before he jumped into the story.

"America, I apologize for betraying your trust, but England—America told me who and what you two were yesterday night. However, please take more care in the future to ensure that your brothers do not find out. They will be… less than accepting," Spain said, pausing for only a moment, not allowing himself to give more details on the predicament just yet. "But as for the Forsaken Fortress… As I'm sure you picked up from the discussion, any man or woman who crosses into those waters will be killed. And any pirate ship or sailing vessel that dares to challenge its master—Lord Germania—will have its crew killed, gruesomely. The captain will watch and be forced to go mad before he is finally allowed a quick, brutal death. The ship is collected as trophy, and any treasure on board is taken, cursed, and tossed back into the sea for an unsuspecting seafarer to find. They will then be cursed."

England and America exchanged a glance. From the expression on America's face, he hadn't heard of any of this.

Spain continued, "The story is only told by one: a man who lives on Windfall Island. He is… battle-worn and… perhaps a little mad, himself. He escaped only by the cruelty of Germania—he would have preferred to be killed along with his ship-mates than to watch them die. And as he was only kept alive to retell the story, to strike fear into pirates' and sailors' hearts… It is maddening." Finally, he seemed to have finished, but he allowed the nations before him to process his words for a moment, before saying, "England's brothers… they had reason to want to attack someone foolish enough to challenge an place as terrible as the Forsaken Fortress. They do not wish to die for your arrogance, in thinking you can overcome it on your own."

"This isn't how things were in the… the replica on my world," America said slowly.

"Lo siento," Spain apologized. "But I'm afraid this is how things are here."

"I'm still rescuing my brother."

There was a very, very quiet moment, before England spoke up. "Then I'll still do my best to help."

America and Spain exchanged a glance, both wondering whether it would be best to allow England go to along, or to forbid him from even assisting from afar. Finally, a simultaneous answer came—"No."

"And why the bloody hell not?!" England demanded.

"I'm not losing you," America snapped, gripping England's upper arm rather fiercely.

Spain seemed to agree. "You may not be my true Captain, but if you die, I'll probably lose mine as well. And… you remind me so much of him. I'm… I'm sorry, but I won't risk this."

"And you expect me to let America risk himself?!" England narrowed his eyes at the guilty look on Spain's face, and nearly burst with anger upon seeing America's defiance. "You must be insane, to be so willing to go on a suicide trip…"

"I've gone on other suicide trips. We're pretty sturdy, England," America said seriously, but unable to stop a small smile as he put his hand over England's. "It takes a lot to kill us. And even then, we can usually regenerate after a while."

"We don't know if those rules apply here, idiot," England snapped, jerking his hand out from under his lover's.

America sighed, leaning forward just enough to place a kiss in-between England's eyebrows. "That's the thing with a world based off of a videogame… I think this rule's going to apply. I have a good feeling about this."

"Yes, well, I don't," England argued, but didn't flinch away this time. "And if you're so set on going, and really believe that that we're still nearly invincible, then I'm coming with you. No arguments."

"Uh, yes arguments," America retorted, frowning ever-so-slightly. "We don't know for sure."

"If you're going, then I'm going. I don't care what you try to pull—I'm going with you whether you like it or not. If you're putting yourself at risk, I'm going to be there with you." He paused, swallowing thickly. "We're allies, in case you're forgetting."

America gave him a long, long look. "I… I can't sway you either way, can I?"

"Not a chance," England said with a small smile.

They were interrupted by a pointed cough from the nation-or-not sitting in front of them. They both flushed dark red, though America recovered noticeably faster than England, who was going so far as to half-heartedly shove America away from him.

"Ah, I don't mean to interrupt, but… England's brothers will not permit him to come along," Spain said, frowning, "And neither will I. It's too dangerous, regardless of whether or not you might still possess near-immortality. There is still a chance it will fail you."

"It's a chance I'm willing to face," America said. "I want Canada back, and safe."

"But he is not even your true brother," Spain tried to reason. "Surely another world's imitation is not so meaningful to you…?"

America's face took a rarely seen, serious edge. "Don't you dare try to minimalize the value of a human life," he said, voice low and dangerous. "I don't care what world he's from—he's still my brother, and even if he wasn't, he's still in danger. I want him, and anyone else that was captured, safe."

He'd stood before he realized he meant to, and was only brought back to reality by a gentle tug on his hand, urging him to sit back down and calm down.

Spain was noticeably surprised. "I did not expect you to be so serious about all this," he said slowly. "It is… good, for you to be dedicated, if you're so set on it. But…"

"There won't be any convincing him," England said with a sigh. "He's made his mind up. You won't stop him. And given that you won't stop him, I'm afraid I'm even more inclined to go with. He's terribly reckless, you see," he paused, a bittersweet, almost fond smile crossing his face. "Someone's got to look after him."

Spain frowned at them both, and finally just put his head in his hands. "If there will be no convincing you, perhaps we can find a way to sneak you in," he hesitated, "But… I'm not willing to put the crew in danger. The only thing we can guarantee is a long-distance transport device."

America rolled his eyes, previous mood seeming to be fading. "Please tell me it's something good…"

"You've seen this part, then," Spain said with a small smile. "I'm afraid you won't get much better than this. But we can offer you some protection, of course—some old clothes should give enough padding for when you make impact."

"Make impact?" England asked, furrowing his eyebrows. "What…?"

"We're going to be launched by a cannon," America said, chuckling somewhat awkwardly. "Sorry."

England's eyes went wide, but before he could protest whatever was going on, he was yanked up into a kiss. He hardly had time to react before America departed just as quickly, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he rushed from the room.

England just shot Spain a very confused look, but the Spanish nation-or-not just chuckled. "Don't ask me—I've only known him for a few hours. You're the one that should be explaining his behavior to me, Captain. Either way, you'd best go looking for him. Lord only knows what he'll get into if he doesn't have someone looking after him"

"That sounds about right," England said with a sigh, but it was highly unlikely that he was really upset, as there was a smile playing at the corners of his lips. True to his word, he followed America out not a minute later, leaving Spain alone in the room.

"I can only hope they'll stay safe…" the Spanish nation-or-not whispered, making the sign of the cross over his heart and bowing his head in silent prayer.

* * *

Three hours later found America and England in a rather tight situation. They'd been stuffed into a barrel and promptly had any room between them and the barrel filled with spare clothes. Between the nations themselves were the supplies they'd, hopefully, be shielding with their bodies. America had a good grip on his sword, even though he doubted it would do much good (as it was right after this that he lost his sword.

"Cozy, eh?" Wales asked, stuffing one more shirt into the barrel, this one near England's head. He'd been the only brother that had been chosen to help out, even if most of the details were kept from him. It was fortunate, as it was going to take more manpower than just Spain's to actually launch them. The cannon could only launch so far with such heavy cargo, after all.

"Oh, yes. This is precisely how I wanted to spend my evening," England grumbled, words muffled by some of the cotton shirts surrounding his head.

America, who didn't have nearly as much protection around his face, had an easier to hear reply. "Oh, don't worry about that, sweetheart. We'll be nice and coz, sneaking around the Fortress, now won't we?"

"This is no time for jokes," England groused in the same muffled voice. "This is dangerous."

"'Course it is," America said, grinning. "That's why I need you here to make sure I don't have fun with any of it, isn't that right?"

"Correct," Spain said from above them. He stuffed the last of the shirts behind America's head, but even then, it was fairly obvious who they thought the most precious cargo was, given the amount of ridiculous protection around England. "Now, I apologize in advance for the rough landing you will have. But you must depart quickly."

And without warning, he lit the string hanging, dauntingly, below the cannon.

Within a minute, the fuse had been burnt; both nations felt the surge of flight only after the initial shock of the take-off. They were going far too fast to be able to hear eachother over the wind, but the way England's hand was claimed by America's own spoke volumes.

After what felt like forever, they hit the wall with a loud crash, the barrel breaking apart violently, allowing the pair to fall out onto the ground in the same instant.

Once the world had stopped spinning, England sat up, rubbing his head, silently grateful for the padding he'd had around it. However, he was fairly certain that he'd still have some bruising there, as well as on the rest of his body, as the landing had been quite rough.

Still—America hadn't had the protection that England did, and they both knew it. So when it took more than a minute for America to be able to sit upright, England had a feeling that some bumps and bruises were the last of their worries. Fearing a concussion, he sidled up to the still-dizzy nation and examined his head for any major injuries.

Though it was dark, he had a feeling that he knew exactly what that sticky substance was.

England swore under his breath, but thanked his good fortune that it wasn't worse. They wouldn't be able to stay out in the open, though—not with that loud of a crash and so much wreckage. So he quickly grabbed as many of the supplies as he could, strapping them to both his and America's body, along with a few of the clothes, for injury-wrapping.

When he'd finished, he helped America to his feet—despite the other's near-silent protests of it being "unnecessary"—and looked for a decent place to rest for a bit.

He found it in a beach-like environment slightly below the initial fortress.

When they finally managed to get to it, it felt safe to talk.

"How's your head?" England asked, gently probing the bloodied area again. There didn't seem to be any more blood, so it really did seem like their quick-healing ability was kicking in. Still, he couldn't help but be a bit worried; concussions were serious, even for nations.

America swatted his hand away. "'m fine. Anyways, this is a pretty good place to start out. We have access to a couple towers from here…"

"Access for what?" England asked, already tearing a strip of cloth away from the shirt he'd taken. Despite America's protests, he managed to wrap it around the other nation's head, biting his lip at the way the red soaked through almost immediately. Sure, it wasn't still bleeding, but it was hardly comforting either way.

"There are a bunch of search lights that we have to shut down before we can advance. I normally wouldn't have my sword with me, but this time I do. Otherwise we would have had to focus on just stealth…" America frowned, unsheathing his sword. It was indeed still intact, but he had a feeling that he wouldn't be able to use it after all…

"What is it?" England asked, narrowing his eyes at the other's sudden silence.

"I'm just wondering, but… Well… Should I risk fighting? I mean, this was supposed to be a stealth mission for a reason…" He tossed it from hand to hand a few times, testing its resilience. Although his bruised arms and legs protested, he doubted that England's were any better and kept any complaints to himself, instead focusing on exactly how sturdy his sword would stay.

"Do whatever you feel is necessary," England said with a half-shrug. However in a slightly more jovial tone, he added, "However, I have to say that you don't exactly seem the stealth-type…"

America frowned, that same serious face he'd been using since they crashed. "Yeah. You know, how about _you_ play stealth, keep yourself safe, and if anyone sees you, I fight them?"

England scowled at him, previous mood effectively disrupted. "Now you listen here, you arrogant prick. I came here with you so I could help you—not have you trying to constantly look after me. I have experience with this type of thing, with fighting and going on adventures. You might have had your cowboy phase, but I've had more close calls than you. I know what I'm doing."

"But you don't know the layouts of any of these places and you don't know what's coming next or anything like that_. I_ do," America argued. "And besides, I already promised Spain and Wales that I'd keep you safe. It's not just my opinion here—you're worth more. If Germania catches you…"

"Then I'll be completely useless because I know nothing about any dark purpose he might be using me for. I have no information for him. None," England snapped. "Now stop treating me like some damsel in distress. And besides, if you have the knowledge and I have the experience, then don't try to shove me to the side. We need to work together—to be _partners_…" He paused, leaning forward just enough to grab hold of America's shirt, pulling the other nation towards him. "…Just like with everything else."

America looked at him for a long, long while, before pulling away with a sigh. "No arguing, huh?"

"I thought we were finished arguing about this on the ship, when we talked with Spain," England said. "Apparently not."

"Sorry," America said, though he didn't look particularly apologetic.

England chose to ignore the other's expression in favor of the supplies on the ground. He started picking them up, sliding them into his satchel. Most fit, though only with careful categorizing. A few larger items, however, simply wouldn't stay. So he handed them to America.

"What am I supposed to do with these?" America asked, blinking in confusion.

"Clip them on your belt," England instructed, finally sliding his own dagger into place on his side. "Like this."

America did as told, though not without some minor difficulty. After all, some of the supplies were rather awkward to position; after all, how was he supposed to have room on his belt for both the rope and the bottle? And why was he the one carrying the bottle, anyways? Wouldn't it get smashed?

However, before he could voice any of his concerns, England had started climbing up the hill, pausing at the gate to the insides of the Forsaken Fortress.

"Are you coming?" England asked, raising an eyebrow.

America looked across the ocean, where the pirate ship's outline could be seen, very vaguely, against the horizon. It probably wouldn't be too late to go back…

"Yeah, I'm coming," America said with a nod, climbing after England. Before they entered, though, he slipped his hand into England's and gave the other nation a quick peck on the cheek. "Ready."

And they walked inside.

* * *

**See you next time! And don't hesitate to leave reviews okay? **


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry if this has some telling, not showing, but when there isn't much dialogue, it's sort of hard to explain what characters are doing and feeling, since I really don't like letting the reader know their actual thoughts…

Anyways, enjoy.

* * *

They'd walked as quietly and as quickly as they could, not stopping to even discuss where they were going. England was naturally a bit unhappy with not being told what they were even trying to do aside from it being a rough outline of a plan having to do with taking out search-lights. Still, he trusted his partner and didn't protest even when he was yanked roughly to the side to avoid the searchlights that periodically stopped too close to them for comfort.

Finally, they stopped after making what seemed like a full circle around the outer ring of the fortress. Having had enough of not having an actual plan, England yanked America back and through the crack in the wall they'd slipped into to get to the Fortress, pulling him down the hill as well.

When they'd gotten out of earshot of the Fortress, America finally spoke up—and he wasn't particularly happy. "What gives?" he hissed, yanking his arm out of England's grip. "I just got the scope of the courtyard, and I need to compare it to the rooms in the back! Why would you make us go all the way back here?!"

"Because you told me none of that," England snapped. "No offense, love, but you didn't even imply that you had a real plan, only something to do with searchlights."

"We don't need to talk all that much when it's just me looking around to make sure the map wasn't different!" America shouted. Or, rather, got as close to shouting as he could while still keeping his voice at a reasonably quiet level. They still couldn't risk getting caught, after all.

"As I said before, I didn't know that!"

"If you actually trusted me, you wouldn't have cared," America exclaimed, crossing his arms across his chest, mouth a lopsided frown.

"This isn't about trust, it's about communication." England wasn't about to let his partner pout like a petulant child, since it only made him feel guilty. But he had a reputation to keep, so he couldn't help but say, "Oh lighten up, you insufferable git. All you need to do is tell me what you're doing, and all of this can be cleared up in an instant."

America just seemed to get angrier at that statement. "Well maybe if you weren't acting like I was some idiot who had no idea what he was doing, then it wouldn't have been a problem in the first place!"

"You're making too big a deal of this," England dismissed. He fiddled absently with the blade on his dagger, finding great interest in the way it already seemed to be molded to his hand. America wasn't impressed, however, and it wasn't long before the dagger was snatched from his hands. "I was using that!"

"Yeah, well, maybe if you weren't so obsessed with that dagger you'd, oh, I don't know, bother to look me in the eye when we're talking?" America said sarcastically, holding the knife out of England's reach.

England, feeling a moment's rationality, stopped clamoring for the dagger. Instead, he put on his best coldly-disapproving expression and asked, "Why is this even an issue for you? It wouldn't even be a problem if you just sat down and told me what you planned on doing."

America flushed a light red, which England imagined to be embarrassment from being proven right—in all actuality it was more from being angry at being talked to like he was five years old. So he just glared at the other nation.

"You know? If you're so set on me having a strategy, how about you stay here and find one yourself, huh?" America snapped. "Because I'm really done with this conversation. I know what I'm doing, and if you're just gonna yell at me and try to make me feel like an idiot, then I'm continuing on. But if you're going to hold me back, you're not coming with."

And with that, he turned and climbed back up the hill, not looking back once, save for a tiny peek from the corner of his eye when he stepped through the crack in the wall.

England watched him go, silently fuming as shouting would only get them both captured (and he didn't want to see what the prison systems were like). He'd just about had it with the whole ridiculous argument—and he still didn't even know why America was so bothered—and was just about to give in and follow when he realized he hadn't gotten his dagger back.

He mentally cursed, realizing that America had probably planned it before-hand.

* * *

America was still fuming as he pressed forward, further into the fortress. Yeah, he knew somewhere in his mind that he should've clued England into what was going on, but there wasn't much of an opportunity to when they had to keep quiet and move so quickly around the base. He'd have explained it in a heartbeat if England had actually asked nicely, but…

Oh, who was he kidding—he was angry because he was sick and tired of being treated like he was an idiot, or like he was too young to know anything about strategy. He'd gotten England's dagger away from him, hadn't he? He'd managed a power-play that would prevent his lover from endangering himself (because he was smart enough not to enter a dangerous place without a weapon), while America still ended up getting what he wanted. And if he was smart enough to manage that, he was smart enough to put his plan—and he had one—into action.

America had been staring at the ground so intensely that he'd almost forgotten to look up. He managed to dance away from a searchlight just in time; it missed him by maybe an inch.

He let out a sigh of relief before realizing one was directly behind him, and coming closer each second—closer than even a run could beat. He jumped out of the way, to the side, only to realize that he was still close to the wall. Next time he probably wouldn't be able to escape, as there was nowhere to go when he already had his back flat against the wall.

So carefully—very, very carefully—he stepped away from the wall and made a break for the open courtyard, and then he saw it: The first searchlight.

It had been hard to find it before, as he'd been more preoccupied with not being found, himself, and not to mention how difficult it was to see when it was so dark in some places, and wherever there was light, it was blinding. So, no, it wasn't exactly a surprise that it had taken him so long to find it, and it wasn't a surprise, either, that it took him even longer to figure out how to get there.

From what he remembered, there were a few staircases, and not all of them led to the right area. If he didn't want to end up in places he didn't belong (and possibly alert the attention of the guards), he needed to figure out what was going on first.

America sighed, running a hand through his hair, nearly knocking that gaudy green hat off in the process. He was tempted to just toss it and be done with it, but he knew that, if nothing else, it was warm. And as hot as it was during the day, at night it really did get cold. All in all he was thankful for the layers he had, though he couldn't help but feel just a bit of guilt for leaving his partner—and lover, his brain reminded him—out in the cold, with far fewer clothes…

But it wasn't like they didn't still have several of the garments that had been loaded in the cannon with them, America argued with himself. And if England really, really needed to, he'd be able to get away somewhere warm. America nodded to himself, deciding point blank that he was not, under any circumstance, going to feel guilty about it.

And though his thoughts left him somewhat preoccupied, he managed to get to the proper staircase without anyone spotting him. It was odd how few guards were around the place, really. But America supposed it was partially because there was hardly any need, since so few sailors came around this place anymore. He wasn't about to go taking unnecessary risks, though. So sword in one hand and dagger in the other, he climbed the stairs and crept up behind the guard, who appeared to be controlling the searchlights.

Without waiting, he employed some guerrilla warfare—though far less brutal—and quickly knocked the guard unconscious, using perhaps a bit more of his strength than necessary.

The guard fell out of his stool and lay motionless on the ground, and America let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

He didn't bother to check the face of the man, knowing from experience on the battlefield that it would only depress him.

Not wanting to stay there for longer than absolutely necessary, America quickly headed back for the steps, climbing down them clumsily, partially from nerves and partially from how quickly he was walking. After he missed a step—and nearly had a heart attack, he was so scared of falling down the stairs and alerting the entire courtyard to his presence with the noise—he slowed down, but it did little to help his nervousness.

But, of course, in his nervousness, he managed to forget the other two searchlights, walking directly into one.

America didn't even realize he'd been caught until he heard the angry, "HEY YOU!" from afar. He looked up, wide-eyed, and tried to run, but by then it was too late.

From seemingly nowhere, two guards jumped out at him, tackling him to the ground. America was more than prepared to fight them off, but they had the element of surprise and America was, unfortunately, not particularly good with surprises. The guards knocked his weapons from his hands before he even realized that he could use them, and they clattered to the ground, the guards paying them no mind.

He put up a decent fight, but within just a few minutes, the guards had grabbed hold of him, allowing no further struggling. Without warning, they struck him on the head. Given that America was still healing from one concussion that day, it didn't take long at all for him to pass out, going limp in the guards' arms.

The party of three walked out of the courtyard and through the wooden door that faced the northern sky, oblivious to the bright green eyes that followed them.

* * *

England had been understandably angry when America tricked him and managed to steal away his one means of defending himself. However, when the other nation hadn't come back after a few minutes, he'd gone from angry to absolutely livid.

He kicked at the wall, feeling rather useless, and wondered not for the first time if he should just go after his partner, if only to express his anger (in a perhaps rather violent revenge).

A shout of "Hey, you!" followed by a pained cry interrupted his thoughts, however. England swallowed hard. He narrowed his eyes, and, fearing the worst, he crept over to the wall. Peeking cautiously—very, very cautiously—though the crack that they'd been sneaking though, he barely managed to keep from running into the scene.

There, in the center of the courtyard and only a few dozen meters out of his reach, was America. Two guards had tackled him, and while normally England knew very well that the other nation could handle himself, it seemed that he'd been taken by surprise, his sword and England's dagger knocked out of his hands.

The fight was over all too quickly, as a guard hit America on the head, only a little ways away from his already present injury. England very, very nearly rushed from his place upon seeing it, and only managed to restrain himself when he realized that, by then, America was already unconscious, and then the guards would just have to take England down (and England didn't even have means of defending himself).

So England waited, just until the door had closed, and then snuck in though the crack in the wall.

And, to his relief, the sword and the dagger were still there, in the center of the court yard, shining bright whenever the spotlights crossed over them. England picked them up, quick as he could, then rushed off into the nearest door. It wasn't the one America had been taken through, but England could have sworn America had said something about the rooms almost always connecting at some point.

* * *

America came to in a dungeon cell, with absolutely no one in sight. He wasn't entirely certain why there were never any guards here, but he was not about to question it—particularly not when he was really glad to be alive.

However, guards or no, he didn't really feel like making a lot of noise. So he quietly—_very_ quietly—stood up on the table and climbed onto the wall's ledge. And, just like in the game, there was enough room for him to crouch. Shoving a spare box out of the way (and really, why did they have an empty box there, anyways?), he crawled through the hole that he knew was behind it.

Absently, he wondered what the story behind this feature was, because someone obviously had made it and climbed through. Perhaps it was the man who'd gotten free. He'd ask, maybe, and if it was true he'd be sure to shake that guy's hand. But until then he was not going to get too sentimental. Not when he had a job to do.

America dropped to the floor as gracefully as he could manage, and that was right about when he noticed that he didn't have his weapons with him. He couldn't remember if they'd been taken away after he was knocked unconscious, or they'd just fallen, but he didn't dwell on it.

His main focus, right then, was managing to escape from this area. He couldn't quite remember if there were a lot of guards in this area, but he sure hoped there weren't.

Taking a deep breath (make that a _very_ deep breath), he slipped on through the door, and almost immediately regretted his decision, as two rather menacing-looking guards guarded the other side. They actually resembled some of the trolls Norway was so famous for. Not that America had ever seen them in person, but as far as descriptions went, these guys were pretty close. It was funny—he'd actually been expecting the more human-like guards that had been outside, but apparently a place like this got all types.

Hardly daring to breathe, America slid close to the wall, eyes darting around for any type of disguise he could manage. A barrel to his side made itself evident, and he prayed silently that no one who held any particular respect for him would see him do something so ridiculous.

He slipped the barrel over his head as quietly as he could, and he was more than grateful for the trolls' inattention. He stilled for a moment, wondering if they were asleep or just had really poor senses, but he decided not to put it to the test. So he snuck past them, slow as he could, and it didn't seem like they even noticed his existence.

When America finally got past the door and sufficiently distanced himself from the trolls (and the trolls after that, and the trolls after that…), after a painstakingly slow journey that must have lasted nearly an hour—he gently lifted the barrel off of himself and journeyed out into the courtyard…

Only to find that there was only one operational search-light.

So either England had snuck in and turned one off already, or there was a very, very convenient malfunction. He guessed, correctly, that it was the former, and this time he wasn't able to resist muttering a curse.

* * *

England hadn't had too difficult a time, really. Once he'd snuck out and picked up the sword and dagger, he'd made quick work of finding the staircases that led to the searchlight's towers. Once up there, he made quick work of the guards, too. He hadn't been quite as kind as America, but he refrained from killing the guards (though he did leave them all with particularly painful wounds, the price to pay for living such a corrupt lifestyle).

And after he'd managed to knock out the guards to the remaining searchlight-towers, England stayed at a searchlight's post, monitoring the area to see when America would finally break out.

After over two hours of waiting (plus the hour it took to take down the searchlights and their guards), England had been quite ready to go out looking for the idiot. However, the wooden door at the base of the tower finally opened, and out came—

—a barrel. Right. Well, England supposed that humor probably was a sub-genre of the game, so he wasn't about to pay it too much mind, save for perhaps some (mostly) good-natured teasing later.

After a moment, the barrel was discarded and America stepped out from under it, running a hand through his hair. Even from a distance (make that quite a distance, a good view or no), America looked terrible. But, England supposed, trying not to feel guilty, that was what he got for trying to ditch his partner and go solo. And then the guilty feeling passed, replaced by a rather bitter one as he remembered their argument.

England hummed to himself, easing his way back to the searchlight's pedestal. He let the light follow the other nation, then made it chase him when America noticed it and started to run. _Silly git_, England thought, making him run all the faster. _Next time don't try to leave me behind. Idiot_.

Of course, he didn't notice when the guard behind him started to come to, but he did notice when America seemed to catch onto the fact that his game was, well, a _game_, and started to climb up the staircases to get to the tower. England just rolled his eyes and released the controls, turning around a moment too late.

He let out an only _slightly_ unmanly screech as he was steadily backed into the post. The guard was moving slowly—and it probably had something to do with the cuts all over his chest—but he had the advantage, since England was pinned to the control post and didn't have access to his sword from the angle his arm was in.

However, his hero came in at just the right second, panting from the impromptu run in the courtyard, but he recovered quickly enough when he saw the situation England was caught in. Not knowing what else to do, since he was unarmed and frankly didn't have time to come up with anything better, he picked up a nearby vase and threw it at the guard's head.

The guard slumped backwards, his head already bearing some abuse (England's work), and when he collapsed to the floor, England and America were left without anything in-between them.

And, of course, instead of rushing into eachother's arms like they should have, they started shouting. Naturally.

"WHAT THE HELL?! WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME? I WAS UNARMED, YOU ARSE, YOU'RE SO INSENSITIVE! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU HAD THE GALL TO—"

"DUDE, NOT MY FAULT. YOU WERE SCREAMING AT ME AND NOT EVEN LETTING ME TELL YOU WHAT I HAD PLANNED—"

"I GAVE YOU AMPLE OPPORTUNITY, YOU WANKER, YOU JUST WERE TOO PRIDEFUL TO ADMIT THAT YOU WERE WRONG! WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST LISTEN TO ME—"

"WELL GEE, MAYBE IF YOU WEREN'T SO BUSY WITH THAT STICK UP YOUR ASS, YOU WOULD'VE REALIZED HOW MEAN YOU WERE BEING!"

"I WASN'T BEING MEAN, I WAS TRYING TO GET US TO COOPERATE!"

"YOU COULD'VE DONE IT WITHOUT CALLING ME AN IDIOT!"

"I WASN'T EVEN CALLING YOU AN IDIOT, BUT MAYBE IF YOU'D ACTUALLY DO SOMETHING RIGHT FOR ONCE, YOU WOULDN'T BE SO SCARED OF BEING CALLED ONE!"

America glared at him, angrier than he'd felt in a long, long time, but this time he felt justified. Still, tears had started to gather at how harsh the last comment had been, and he couldn't resist screaming back. "YEAH? WELL IF YOU WEREN'T ALWAYS CRITICIZING ME BEFORE I COULD ACTUALLY _DO SOMETHING RIGHT_, I WOULDN'T BE SO SCARED OF FAILING!" His voice broke at the last word, though, and hot, angry tears slid down his cheeks. Had he looked up, he might have seen a similar expression on his partner's face, but America wasn't particularly interested in looking, right then. So he turned around, storming down the staircase for the second time that day.

England watched him go, very nearly as angry as he'd been just moments ago, but some part of his mind couldn't deny that maybe, just maybe, he'd been a little harsh. Maybe.

Another, more rational, part of his brain reminded him that neither of them should be in such a dangerous situation when they were in such volatile emotional states, but he had a feeling that America wouldn't take kindly to being taken back to their safe-spot. The best he could do was to follow the other nation, at a distance, and ensure that he didn't get himself captured again.

So England sighed and started following.

Not by choice, of course, he would have argued if he'd been in a less angry state. No—He was simply making sure that America didn't do something more stupid than he had last time, that was all.

* * *

America frowned, scrubbing his eyes with his heels, forcing the tears to come to an abrupt halt. Besides, he already wore glasses. He didn't need any other vision problems, especially when he was in an unfamiliar and definitely unfriendly area.

Well, a glance behind him showed that, as England followed at a cautious distance, he wasn't going into enemy territory alone. Not that he needed backup. He was plenty heroic enough not to need a sidekick _or_ a partner. America just scowled when England didn't look even the slightest bit apologetic, but he refrained from speaking because he wasn't about to break the silence.

The silence was broken, however, when they came back to the front door—the entrance to the castle-tower-_thing_. England put a hand on America's shoulder, spinning him around.

"Do you have any plans?" he demanded, eyes never losing their glare.

America matched his expression, though with perhaps a bit more bitterness than the other nation. "Yeah, actually. It involves sneaking to the top of this tower and saving my little brother and everyone else trapped. You're not invited."

"Right, because you're really in a position to force me to stay." England set his lips into a firm line, trying for what felt like the thousandth time to make the other nation see reason. "America. We are in dangerous territory. If we don't stick together, neither of us are going to come out of this unscathed."

"Maybe I don't care if I come out unscathed so long as it means you're as far away from this place as I can get you," America muttered, finally shoving out of the other's grasp. He looked away, suddenly unable to maintain eye-contact. "I don't want you here, England. It was stupid of you to come with. You don't know the first thing about this place."

England had to force down the urge to smack some sense into him. "Don't be stupid." (America, for some odd reason, bristled at that.) "I'm coming with you. Besides, I still have your sword, remember?"

"Don't make me take it from you," America threatened. "I mean it, England. Hand it over and get out of here. We'll talk later, but here's where it starts getting dangerous. There are trolls inside, and eventually I'm going to have to go all the way up. Now, I know what to expect, but you don't, and I really, really don't want you to get kidnapped or anything. You're in a dangerous enough position already just by coming with. Don't tempt fate."

"'Don't tempt fate'? What are you, a fortune cookie?" England snapped. "Don't be such an idiot." (Again, America tensed, teeth clenching.) "Look, I'm just asking to come with. Who knows what'll happen to you if no one's here to help?"

"I know what'll happen, actually. I'll make it out of here, don't worry. But here's the thing—If all doesn't go well, there's this huge bird that's going to come in and kidnap me. If you're there, though, it's going to target you. It wanted you in the first place, alright?" America continued to walk away, back still against the wall. "And even if it doesn't get you, you're still trapped here. The best thing you can do is grab one of the spare boats and try to row back to the ship."

"You told me about this before," England argued. Finally, he had enough of America constantly trying to walk away, he grabbed the other nation by the wrist and held him there. "I know the risks. But you're the one who said we're more durable, didn't you?"

"It's one thing to take a few risks, but what you're doing is suicide," America snapped, trying to wrench his hand away, but couldn't manage without using more of his strength—it would hurt England if he did.

"Right, because what you're doing isn't?"

There was a tense silence, and finally England relaxed his grip, America jerking away with a snap.

"Look, just… If you're going to tag along, promise you'll hide yourself until I tell you to come out." America met his eyes, briefly, and it would be impossible to say that he wasn't sincere. As a last resort—because England had been shocked into silence, and America wasn't about to chance a 'no'—he added a rather pathetic, "Please," at the end of it.

England ran a hand through his hair, held it there for a moment, debating whether or not to agree, but finally stuck his hand out for a handshake. "Deal," he muttered, because really, there wasn't much of a choice. They really were stuck together until the end, after all.

America tentatively grabbed his hand, shaking it just once before retracting his hand. "Yeah, deal. So, um, we're gonna go through this door, and to your right will be the passageway into the room we're looking for. After we get there, there's gonna be a staircase outside of it. And there's a ledge afterwards, if memory serves me… after that, I'm going to need you to hide. Alright?"

England stared at him for a moment. "How many times have you played this game, anyways?"

"Enough to know that you're not going to like what comes after," America said with a shrug. "Anyways. C'mon, we've got some ground to cover. Hopefully we'll be done with this by dawn, otherwise hiding's gonna get to be a problem."

England frowned, but followed after, resisting the urge to take the other's hand. But they were running out of time, and really, they just didn't have time to talk things out. Not when the moon was going further and further across the sky.

* * *

Kind of lame, I know, and there isn't much dialogue for the first two thirds of this. But hey, when they're playing stealthy… It's sort of hard to incorporate dialogue.

Um, not much to say about this further than that. Hopefully you guys still want to read this, and you aren't mad at me for how much I made them argue in this one. I don't think I'll have a chapter where they argue this much again, because you have to realize, part of the reason they're fighting so much is because this is literally their first time in a situation like this. They're stressed, tired, fighting things that they're not used to fighting, and they aren't really allowed to blow off much steam for fear of someone hearing them. The scene on the tower was literally only that loud because it was far enough away from everyone so that they could kick and scream to their hearts' content.

Anyways, this description's getting long, so um, just review, please? Favorites and alerts are nice and all, but I really like hearing what you guys have to say. You honestly don't know how happy a simple "I liked this because (reasons xxx)" or "I feel that (xxx) could be improved" makes me. So yeah. Thanks for reading, though. It does feel nice to be appreciated even in just that regard.


	9. Chapter 9

It was near morning before they made it into the highest tower. Very few words had been spoken between the two nations, and honestly, they couldn't have cared less. Given that arguments usually worked like this between them—a slow buildup, then a blowup, then a freezing-out until one or both broke and finally, _truly_ mended things—and they were still in the 'freezing-out' stage, neither was very concerned.

When they finally reached the tower, America stopped suddenly. England had been in a daze and hadn't seen him stop, and crashed into him, nearly falling backwards in the process.

"What gives?" England hissed as he steadied himself.

America just put a finger to his lips and pointed to a nearby barrel, gesturing for England to go inside.

"You really think I'm just going to—"

America cut him off with a glare, whispering in as angry a tone as a whisper would allow, "We made a deal, England. You promised to hide once we got here, and after I was… gone, or done, you'd find your way back out. You promised."

England stared at him a moment, tense, and finally sighed. "It's not much of a plan. How am I going to get out, anyways?"

"Go back to the safe-spot before morning, if you can. Hide there and I'll try to come back for you. Simple enough, right?" America asked.

"That's a terrible plan. What if you don't come back?" England demanded. "Am I just going to be stuck there forever?"

"Well it's better than you getting caught!" America yelled—or, rather, whispered fiercely in place of a yell.

England just rolled his eyes. "Maybe, maybe not. Look, if a different opportunity presents itself, I'm going to take it. You realize that, don't you?"

America gave him a long look. "Stick to the plan, England. Just… just stick to the plan."

"No," England snapped. "It's ridiculous and leaves too much room for error and unforeseen variables. If I can escape on my own or if I can go with you, I will."

America gave the barrel one last, furtive glance. "…Let's not argue about this, please. Just, stay in the barrel for now. No matter what happens in the next couple'a minutes, you need to stay inside it. And, if you can, try to break the kids out if I can't."

England felt fury bubbling up inside of him, but he couldn't see anything wrong with just staying inside of it for a few minutes. But if America honestly expected him to stay inside if or when something happened… well then, America had something else coming.

Once England was safely inside, America picked the barrel up and opened the door, slipping inside and depositing England just a few meters to the left of the door. It was then that he looked towards the giant cage containing the hostages.

Not only was Canada amongst them (as America had known from the start), but he was joined by… Poland and Romano? It wasn't exactly who America had been expecting, but he figured they'd fit the bill. Sort of. Well, maybe anyways. And who knew, their personalities might've been slightly different than the original game's characters'. Or maybe there was, again, something else going on. Whatever the case, he felt awful that they'd probably be staying in that cage for a while longer, given that he wouldn't be able to save them this time. Or, probably wouldn't anyways.

America walked slowly towards the jail-cell, hoping beyond hope that he wasn't loud enough to rouse any guards or worse, the bird guarding the cell.

Canada spotted him before he got there, though, and called out a greeting. "A-America? Are you here to rescue us?"

It was only when America got a bit closer that he could see the pitiful condition of his brother and the other captives. They looked alarmingly thin for having only been there a day or two, and come to think of it, all of them looked a bit beat up. America swallowed, feeling his throat tightening. "Yeah—I'm gonna do my best to get you guys out of here, okay?"

Before he could try to slice through the metal bars of the cage, though, what he'd been dreading let out a shriek from high above.

The giant bird that had dropped England into the forest, that had kidnapped Canada, was back.

America was lifted from the air before he had time to brace himself. What he hadn't expected, however, was someone else tackling the bird at just the right moment.

"England?!" He yelled over the force of the wind, scarcely able to open his eyes. "England—_I told you to stay put_!"

"And I told you that if there was another way, if I could come with you, I would!" England screamed back. It was then that America finally got a good look at his partner. England was hanging onto the foot of the bird with all his might, and somehow managing to climb forward, hand outstretched to America. "Now grab hold of me, you idiot, before he drops you!"

America didn't bother to argue, instead pushing forward, nearly falling, but managing at the very last instant to grab hold of England's hand. He pulled himself up, grabbing hold of the giant bird's leg as tight if not tighter than England.

"So what do we do now?" America yelled over the wind.

"We try to overpower that creature. If we're lucky, we can manage to steer it towards an island," England said, gesturing up.

America frowned. "I don't think that's going to work! It has this helmet thing, I think Ganondorf controls it through that."

"Ganon-who?!" England shouted.

"DORF. The villain in this game?! We haven't seen him yet, but trust me, you'll know him when you see him!"

"Right!" England called back. "But if we aren't going to overpower it, how the bloody hell are we going to get down?!"

"Well in the game it just sort of drops you, and this boat-thing rescues you!" America scanned the ocean below for even a speck of red, but found none. "I'm not seeing it, though!"

"I CAN'T SWIM YOU BLOODY WANKER."

America blinked at him, momentarily stunned into silence. Then, "I thought you learned when you colonized Australia?!"

"HE LED ME TO CROCODILE-INFESTED WATERS, YOU ARSE. HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO LEARN?!"

But his shouting finally managed to alert the attention of the bird, and it peered down, catching sight of the pair of nations clinging to one leg.

"WE HAVE TO DROP, NOW!" America yelled, grabbing hold of England's hand.

"BAD IDEA. BAD, BAD, _BAD_ IDEA. I CAN'T SWIM, I CAN'T SWIM ICAN'TSWIMYOUIDIOOOOOT!"

By the time the third 'I can't swim' got out, America had already jumped, pulling England with him. They plunged into the ocean, the frigid water encompassing them from head to toe. Unfortunately, the force of the current forced them to let go of eachother, and it was too dark to see who was where.

America rose to the surface first. The night-sky disoriented him, forcing him to take a moment to realign himself. It was then that he realized, first and foremost, that England was not beside him. A brief scan of the horizon showed that England hadn't breached the surface, and America had to expect the worst.

He gulped a breath before diving below, searching the depths until his lungs burned and he couldn't bear it anymore, then swam up for another breath.

By then, the sun had come up a bit more, and it was enough, just barely enough, to see a bit more of the world below. America dived back down, this time determined not to come back up until he'd found and rescued England.

He'd nearly run out of breath before he spotted a pair of familiar, baggy white pants, several yards below. America dived, deeper still, and managed only to grab hold of England's ankle before he had to go back up to the surface, lest he drown.

Once England's head reached the surface, the English nation spurred back to life. Had he not been a nation, he'd have drowned, but fortunately he'd managed to seal off his airway after the air in his lungs had run out, but when he broke the surface, he took oxygen greedily.

Before either of them had time to think, America lunged for his partner, wrapping his arms around him so tight that England had another choking hazard, though this one was far more welcome.

"Don't scare me like that again," America managed. "I thought—I didn't think I'd find you, England. God, if I'd lost you—"

"I'm fine, I'm fine, thank you," England said, trying to sound more soothing than irritated. He hadn't been that far gone after all, but America's distress really did seem to be genuine and he wasn't going to berate him for it. "Everything's alright, America. You brought me back, I'm safe, you're safe, everything's going to be just fine."

America nodded, still not releasing his partner. "Do you think you can take a crash-course on swimming? 'Cause I don't think I can carry the both of us and our supplies for too long…"

England bit his lip. "I'll try. I won't promise anything though."

"Hey," America said softly, cupping England's cheek with a small smile. "Trying's all that matters, right?"

Before England could protest, America pulled him into a kiss. When they broke apart, the American nation just winked and started trying to show him all about how swimming worked.

* * *

England was hardly a natural. He wasn't even decent, really, but it was better than nothing, even if his muscles weren't accustomed to the motions of swimming just yet.

However, as the morning sun rose higher and higher into the sky, it was becoming very obvious that the pair needed somewhere to rest. Not only had they foregone sleep the previous night (save for America's brief, unconscious spell) and hadn't been able to eat since evening the day before, but they'd been on the move all night, running on adrenaline and nerves.

It was nearing midday before America started to shut down, with England hardly doing better. Still, England belatedly noticed his partner starting to go under and very near panicked.

"America?" He called forward to him, hoping to rouse the other nation. "This isn't funny—you know I can't swim well, and I doubt I'll be able to dive in and save you if you start to sink!"

Still, the other nation continued to bob up and down, losing all forward motion. It didn't take long for England to catch up to him. He did his best to support America's weight and the weight of the supplies they'd so stubbornly insisted on keeping with them, but it quickly became obvious that it was all too heavy, despite that America was still doing his best to float.

"America," England called again, a bit more urgently than before. "Come on, wake up. I need you to stay awake. Can you do that for me?"

"'m not asleep," America said groggily, all the while making it increasingly apparent that if he wasn't asleep, he would be soon. "Just… tired." He closed his eyes, sinking further and further into England's hold, until the other nation was officially the only thing holding him up.

"Oh, no you don't," England snapped, giving America a hard blow to the cheek. It was ineffective. "Come on, you buffoon. You'll sleep on the couch _for a bloody year_ if you don't wake up right now!"

"Not 'sleep," America mumbled again, eyes fluttering open for a faint second, and then he was limp.

England paled.

He wondered, briefly, if the other nation's earlier head injury had something to do with it, and gently probed America's forehead to check if it had healed. Sure enough, though the bleeding had stopped shortly after departing to the safe-zone, it was still swollen and probably quite tender. In nation terms, that generally meant that the chance of concussion was by far increased and patrons should try not to engage in too much physical activity.

In other words it shouldn't have been a surprise that America eventually went down.

England sighed, clearing the thoughts from his head as he tried to focus on keeping him and his partner upright. Just as he was considering just letting the sword and shield drop into the ocean, consequences be damned, he felt a sudden surge of magic nearby.

It was an unfamiliar breed of magic, that much was obvious, but if anything it made the presence harder to ignore. And, though England hadn't the faintest idea of how it could assist him—and perhaps more importantly, how he could repay it so as to not be cursed later on—he felt himself calling out to it with his own breed of magic.

A spot of red appeared on the horizon just seconds later.

England felt his own strength start to fade, but he managed to hold on until the boat arrived. When it did, he pulled it towards him and not-so-gently shoved America inside, using as much strength as he could muster to pull himself in afterwards.

He collapsed onto America, legs and arms tangling with the other nation's.

Inexplicably, a voice came from above him.

"Are you alright, young friends?" it asked, and England glanced up, wearily examining his surroundings.

"Who's talking…?" he asked.

The voice seemed to sigh, then, "Pay me no mind for now, I suppose. Get some rest, young one. We'll have this discussion in the morning."

England didn't need to be told twice. He fell asleep right on top of America, breath evening and deepening until he was relaxed and completely at ease with the world.

* * *

England woke when it was starting to get dark. Apart from some extremely sore muscles, he seemed to be fine, though he wasn't about to get up unless he had a reason to.

Gradually, he became aware of the uncomfortable position he was in, with something digging into his ribs and something slung over his back. Upon closer examination, England realized America had moved sometime in the night. The other nation seemed to have wrapped an arm around him along with moving the supplies on his back to the side, and the sword-hilt was digging into his upper torso. Still, America seemed absolutely exhausted, and England wasn't going to wake him up just to thank him.

And no matter how much England wanted to get up, he had a feeling that any major disturbance would wake his partner, so he decided to just lay there until America woke on his own.

By the time the moon was half-way up the sky, it seemed like the American nation was finally, finally waking up. England pressed a kiss to his forehead and sat up, allowing the other nation to follow his lead.

"Ugh, morning already?" America asked with a tired laugh. "Man, my _head_…"

"That's what you get for getting a concussion and still deciding that it's a bloody brilliant idea to swim around in the sea for any number of hours," England quipped. "I think you'd do better to just get some water and maybe some dinner, then take it easy for a few hours."

"Don't mention food," America groaned, leaning forward and hugging his poor stomach. "What I wouldn't give for a hamburger right now…"

"Yes, you poor thing," the English nation said, rolling his eyes. "It must be awful, really. I don't know how you stand it."

"Don't just rub it in, at least you're used to it 'cause of how little you usually eat!" America cried, but apparently the argument was just too much for him and he leaned back against the wall of the boat with a moan. "Ugh, can we just… I dunno, find a hotel, grab a bite and sleep for a week?"

"You just woke up, you can't seriously want to go back to sleep already," England said with a laugh, sliding forward until he could wrap his arms around the other's neck and press a kiss to his cheek. "Give me some credit, mn? I'm sure we'll find something or another once we reach an island. But, unfortunately, this boat doesn't seem to have any bloody sails…"

Once England mentioned the boat itself, America perked up. "Wait, hey—this is the boat I was talkin' about!" He glanced around, looking for the mast and the carving at the front of the boat. "Um, not sure what your name is here, but… Uh, I know you can talk… Feel free to start any time!"

England gave America his best "what do you think you're doing" face, but America paid him no mind.

There was a moment of silence, then, "Ah, perfect! I'm so glad to hear that you've heard of me, young one!"

The English nation startled, nearly falling from the boat, but America just laughed and pulled him back in. "Right, okay. Um, first off, I'm no good at explaining things, so if you could just tell the story to my partner, that'd be great."

"Hm." The boat seemed to be a bit miffed at the bluntness of it all, but gave in with a sigh. "Fine… Ah, I was hoping for more theatrics, but I suppose this is good enough…"

"Get on with what?" England demanded.

The boat ignored him. "Firstly, I must declare, somewhat boldly, that I am the only talking boat in the sea. So if you run into another boat that claims to be able to talk, it is a liar and you should not go with it," he said with what appeared to be a smile.

"Is he supposed to be acting like this?" England whispered, to which America just chuckled, albeit nervously.

"I am Rome… And I have been watching you for a while now. Both of you."

"Oh, because that's not sinister-sounding at all," England snapped. America jabbed him in the side, hissing something about "showing respect to the guy that's trying to help us." He was largely ignored.

The boat—er, Rome—didn't seem to hear him at all. "I fully understand that your need to rescue your little brother would make you feel almost fearless, but I have to say…" he looked pointedly at America, "that you were an idiot for trying to save him in such a way. Honestly, did you think about this at all?"

England looked pleased to hear it and smirked. "So I tried to tell him. And Spain. And Wales, when he heard. And his mother, I think, though he won't admit it. I'm glad we're on the same page." America glowered at him but didn't say anything in response.

Rome seemed to have heard that, however, and chuckled good-naturedly. "Yes, it was quite idiotic indeed. But, I have to commend him on his courage, and you on your loyalty." Both nations flushed a pleased pink. "I don't suppose you got a good look at who commands the fortress?"

"Um, no…" America said, glancing away. "I think we were supposed to, but we sort of dropped into the sea first. Sorry 'bout that."

"Don't apologize, young one! I'm sure you'll get another chance to see him," Rome said with a smile. "His name is Germania…"

America and England exchanged an uneasy look.

"So it's Germania, is it?" America asked, biting his lip.

"I'm afraid so. You see, Germania wasn't always evil, nor did he have such power." Rome looked away, apparently picturing something in the far-off distance. "He gathered the powers of nature together, though, and attempted to steal their power. Mother Nature, General Winter, and even Lady Summer. Only Mother Nature held fast, her power overcoming the others'. She sealed him away and freed her companions, but… the charm she used…" he paused, "…didn't hold."

"But Mother Nature is said to be the most powerful force in the universe," England exclaimed.

"She is not used to evil," Rome snapped. "He was an ancient power, trusted and loved, but… he abused that power. And no matter what Germania may say, he gave his heart over to evil pursuits and in doing so, turned all of himself over. He is… not himself anymore. Not after the night he killed his closest friend."

Both nations gulped; they'd heard this story before. It was right around then that the boat reached a shore of some kind—a peninsula to a larger island, one that seemed to have a fairly decent sized town on it.

"So—What do you need us to do, then?" America asked, regaining his composure slightly before England.

"Well, if you wish to save your brother," Rome said, serious tone lightening somewhat, "then you must first vanquish Germania."

"_Yes_, I want to save Canada!" America shouted. England frowned, whispering something along the lines of "calm down, it was just a question, love."

"Then I shall guide you, in an effort to avenge the friend so wrongfully slain."

And evidently that was that, for the conversation came to an abrupt halt. After a few moments of silence, England asked, "Ah, are we allowed to leave yet? My partner and I are in dire need of refreshments…"

"Oh—Of course, my apologies. I'm afraid my memory is not the best," Rome chuckled. "Yes, yes—Off you go." Right as the pair were about to leave the boat, though, he stopped them. "Ah—I keep forgetting, I need a sail if I'm to be of any use to you. Do you think you could find me one?"

"Yeah, no problem," America said with a chuckle, attempting to exit the boat. One leg was out of the boat, one still in. He nearly fell in the water; he probably would have, if not for England grabbing him by the hand and helping him balance the rest of the way out. America returned the favor easily, dipping into a slight bow as he offered his hand. The moment the other nation was out, he grinned and dipped him, as if it was a dance. And, despite the smile England was trying to hide, America knew good and well that (this time, at least) his romanticism was appreciated.

"Nothing like a death-defying situation to remember why I wanted you in the first place," England said, raising an amused eyebrow.

"Yeah, I am pretty heroic, huh?" America grinned.

"I was mainly referring to your impulsive nature requiring someone to look after you every once in a while," England corrected him, smirking. "But I suppose you _could_ tie it to your hero complex."

America rolled his eyes before setting his lover upright again. "Mm-hmm, sure. You know you like it when I save you, babe."

"Oh, quite. Almost as much as you like it when I save you."

"Save me from what?" America teased. "Last time you claimed to be saving me was from all the junk food on my pantry."

"It was an honest quest!" England argued, cheeks flushing. "Besides, you didn't end up having a heart-attack or getting some horrid medical disorder, so clearly my actions paid off."

The American nation laughed out loud this time. "Riiiiight, you keep thinkin' that, hon. And speaking of food…" He trailed off, looking hungrily towards the city that lay just a few hundred feet from where they stood at the edge of the sand.

England shook his head, sighing. But his theatrics were just that—theatrics—and he didn't bother trying to slow his lover down, partially because he was fairly hungry himself. "Do you have any money on you?"

"I think I got a couple dozen rupees, yeah," America said as he dug through his pockets to find his wallet. Sure enough, there were several red gemstones, along with a couple of blue and quite a few green ones. "Not sure how the currency works for food, but I'm hoping it's enough."

England hummed an agreement, sliding his hand into the other nation's and intertwining their fingers. They didn't say much before heading inside the first thing to advertise food, but they didn't exactly let eachother go, either.

America was left with a significantly lighter wallet by the end of the night, but he supposed it was only to be expected.

They'd had a bit more than was probably necessary for dinner, but neither nation was going to complain, having gone more than a day without eating. Afterwards it was simultaneously agreed that neither wanted to do anything more than take a shower and go back to sleep, so they set out in search of a hotel and found one shortly afterwards. The night's rent was surprisingly low, but America figured it was probably because the manager took pity on them.

When they got up to their room, America wasted no time in flopping down onto the bed. England tsk'd at him, somewhere between amusement, disapproval and exhaustion.

"Come on, love. Shower first, or you're going to ruin the bedsheets for both of us," he reprimanded, offering the other nation a hand. America just groaned and batted it away, sinking further into the bed. England sighed. "Come on, if you're that tired you can take yours first. Goodness knows you'll fall asleep if I don't keep an eye on you."

"Noooo," America moaned. "Just lemme go to sleeeeeeep…"

"You're acting like a child," England argued. He'd have snapped, but in all honestly he was too tired to be grouchy. "Come on, if it's that awful we can just take it together."

America looked up at that. "Oh?"

England blushed bright red. "Not like that! Honestly, and people say I'm the perverse one."

America laughed, finally sitting forward. "Yeah, yeah. C'mon, let's just go then. It couldn't be too traumatizing, right?"

England grumbled something unintelligible, but led the other into the bathroom nonetheless.

The next fifteen to twenty minutes consisted mainly of water-fights and semi-awkward, semi-intended-to-be-romantic washing, since their sore muscles partially prevented them from reaching certain parts, but neither could deny that it felt good to be clean.

They stepped out from under the water and quickly dried off and put on the least-sweaty or dirty garments they possessed, slipping between the covers soon after.

"Be nice if we actually had some pajamas, huh?" America asked around a yawn, throwing an arm over England's shoulder, a lazy smile stretching over his face.

"Let's try to get some in town today," England tiredly agreed, turning around and pressing his forehead to the other's collar-bone, slipping his arms around the other's waist. "We'll need some more supplies, and breakfast as soon as possible… I wonder if I could get a short-term job here, just for the day…"

America let out a slow, sleepy chuckle. "One thing at a time, alright? One thing at a time."

It didn't take long at all for either of them to fall asleep.

* * *

SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT. I had writer's block and then I couldn't stop writing (just not for this story, hah), and then I remembered that I always liked writing for this. It took me forever to get this chapter done, tho'. Really hoping it's not awful… I think I'm learning a couple of things on how to write both of them, though. I guess it really does just take practice.

Anyways, not gonna bore you with a long author's note, so until further ado, see you next time, alright? And try to review, I love hearing that you guys actually read this.


	10. Chapter 10

Goodness, it's been a while, hasn't it? You have my sincerest apologies for not updating sooner, but unfortunately I've been distracted with schooling, and probably more obviously with tumblr… Anyways. I'll try to update more frequently if I remember, alright?

* * *

America awoke to fingers running through his hair. It felt so nice it could have easily lulled him right back to sleep, but there was a pleasant light filtering through the window, bright enough to show that it must have been early afternoon. So he shifted forward, leaning into the touch. "Feels good," he said, voice thick with sleep.

"Oh?" England asked, playing dumb. "I was under the impression that you _didn't_ like it when I did this." He pressed a bit harder, occasionally scratching his fingernails along America's scalp. At the American's pleased sigh, he chuckled. "My mistake, I'll continue if need be."

America grinned, opening one eye just enough to see England's amused expression. He slipped an arm around his lover's waist, wrapping his legs around England's own and intertwining them under the covers. "If need be?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Who says I _don't_ need some good ol' fashioned TLC?"

England pressed a kiss against his temple, not halting his fingers' work. "You, usually. You're the one that pushes himself hard enough to need some extra care."

The American scoffed. "Please, I'm way too heroic for something like that. Besides, you're more to blame if you're the one who keeps letting me," he replied, still grinning. "You patch me up and make sure I can still walk. We're a good team," he teased.

"I'm no enabler for that sort of behavior. You're deluded if you think I enjoy watching you struggle," England denounced, nevertheless pulling a bit further away, drawing the covers back to examine America's form. "You're rather banged up, by the way. You may want to take it easy for the day."

"Duly noted," America agreed, not without roaming his eyes over the other's body. "You're one to talk, though—I didn't think anyone could _look_ sore but you give it your best shot."

"Oh, hush up," the Brit huffed, pulling even further away so as to be able to lie on his back. "I need to get a short-term job in this town to ensure that we can afford to pay for food and to stay here tonight as well. You ought to consider getting one as well."

America hummed, taking advantage of the other's position, easily crawling on top of him, crossing his arms on the other's chest and propping his head on them. "I'm gonna stay right here 'till you change your mind," he said, grinning.

"What good would that do?" England gave him a rather unimpressed look, trying to shift out from under him, but America's weight was definitely more than his own, and most of it was muscle, so it was quite difficult to squirm away. "We need money and supplies, since some of them must have been damaged from being in the water so long."

"Well _I_ think that you just need to relax for a while," America insisted, sitting up, shifting his weight so that he was practically straddling England's hips. "In fact, I think you should start right now. C'mon, a half-hour-long massage isn't gonna kill you."

England frowned, lips setting into a firm line. However, he sighed, evidently giving in. "Alright, hop up so I can turn over."

America complied in an instant—however, the second most of his weight had lifted, England was off like a shot, running to the other side of the room. He made it halfway to the door before America started following.

Having to open the door slowed him some, but America followed just as quickly. It was clear, however, that England was definitely the more sore of the two, given that he was running with a bit of a limp. It slowed him just enough for America to catch him by the shirt-collar before he made it out of the lobby.

England squirmed against his captor, giving America an unimpressed look despite his panting.

"Ah-ah-ah," America protested, only slightly less out of breath than his lover. "You, sir, are going upstairs to settle in for a nice, quiet massage. Afterwards you can worry about getting a job, but for now, _you_ are going to relax whether you like it or not."

"But—But our funds are shot, and we still need to—"

America hushed him with a firm kiss to the lips. "Let me take care of this."

"As if I should trust you with any sort of money. Don't forget that you've been in debt to China for the last twenty years, and it's several billions by now," the Brit argued, but finally seemed to give up, evidently too tired or, more likely, too sore to fight. "Alright, fine. But just for a half-hour, you understand?"

America just laughed, giving him another kiss, though this time it was more teasing than anything else. "Of course, babe."

* * *

An hour-long massage, as it turned out, could easily turn into an hour long massage plus a two hour cuddling-and-nap session. By that point, however, both were quite hungry and it was without much protest that America let his partner up.

"Let's find some food first," the American pleaded, tugging on England's arm as they walked through the city square.

"How much do we even have?" England asked, raising a thick eyebrow. "I doubt it's enough, regardless."

America sighed, pulling the Brit closer and crossing his arms over the other's waist. "We have at least forty rupees left, and I'd say that's more than enough for lunch. Please?"

"Do you want to sleep outside?" England asked, half-attempting to squirm out of the embrace, but evidently thought better of it. He patted his hands over America's before pressing a kiss to the other's cheek. "I'm certain we can find an odd-job somewhere, and even if it only pays twenty rupees, it's better than nothing. Besides, we won't be staying for long."

They walked for nearly an hour more—and America was certain that Windfall Island hadn't been nearly this large in the game, though he was hardly complaining—before they finally came upon what they were looking for. "Help wanted," the American read out loud, smiling to himself. "I like the sound of that," he commented, suggestively raising his eyebrows.

England smacked him on the side lightly, but slipped his hand over the spot in apology when he saw the other nation wince. "Let's just go inside," he suggested, though his tone seemed slightly apologetic; his kiss was even more-so.

Once inside, they found a rather odd-looking man behind the counter. He looked almost like Estonia, but with oil stains on his clothes and covering a good portion of his face. "Welcome!" the look-alike said, sounding oddly cheerful. "May I help you?"

"Yes, actually—we're interested in the help wanted sign?" England said, stepping forward. "We shan't be able to stay long but we could do as much as you need for the day."

Estonia frowned, scratching his chin and smearing even more oil. "Well, I can't say either of you look like you're in shape enough for this type of job. It involves a lot of heavy lifting, along with a knowledge of machinery…"

"I can do that," America chirped. "I was a mechanic back at my home, and I'm, uh, a lot stronger than you'd think." He chuckled softly, hiding a smile behind his fist.

The look-alike gave him a long look, then shrugged. "I'll have to oversee you while you work, but I suppose it wouldn't hurt. I'll pay you well for a day's work, and if you do a good job, I'll hire you out again next time you're in town. How's that?"

"How much are you willing to pay?" England cut in.

"For this type of work, one hundred rupees is pretty standard. If you do a particularly good job I'll be willing to pay as much as one-twenty, though." Estonia stretched out an oil-stained hand. "Deal?"

America shook it before England could protest. "Deal," he agreed. "So, show me where you need me and just tell me what you want me to do."

And just like that, Estonia whisked him away, England trailing only slightly behind.

* * *

As it turned out, the job itself dealt less with mechanics than it did heavy-lifting. Evidently something had gotten lodged inside a heavy piece of machinery, and it had to be turned on its side so that Estonia could slip in while it was off to retrieve the item. However, since that had only taken about twenty minutes total and Estonia had been planning on a much bigger job, he agreed to increase the price if America was willing to spend a few hours helping him repair various machines of his.

After several hours' hard work of polishing, oiling, repairing, reconstructing, deconstructing, assembling from scratch and more heavy lifting than even America was used to, Estonia finally agreed to call it a night.

"Are you finally done?" England called from the front of the shop, peeking his head around to the workshop, only to be greeted with an exhausted, oil-stained America.

"Yes," Estonia answered from somewhere in the back. "I'm willing to triple the price—you get three-sixty rupees." He walked out from behind the last machine, a towel slung around his neck. "I haven't seen someone with strength like that in a while. I'm impressed. Any time you want to come back, just tell me—I'm sure I'll be able to find some work for you."

England nodded, slipping an arm around America's waist. "Of course. However I really should see him back to the hotel. Good-night."

Estonia bid them good-bye, and the door shut behind the pair as they walked out.

* * *

Over lunch—or rather, dinner—the pair were curiously quiet, though that probably had more to do with the way America was positively murdering his sandwich than anything else. After several minutes, however, England finally spoke up. "So, we came to this island to get a sail, correct?"

America nodded, wiping sauce from the side of his mouth. "Yeah, that's right. I know what guy to look for, sort of… I wouldn't be surprised if he was China or Japan or Korea or something. The guy in-game was Asian, and all those guys seem a little obsessed with trade, and the guy in the game wanted to start a trading business as well."

"How fun, to be able to guess," England said, rolling his eyes. "Are you quite finished? I don't want anyone to overhear us and think us crazy."

The American laughed, taking another bite and not bothering to swallow before speaking. "Duff anyfunm carh?"

"Disgusting," England remarked, shuddering at the other's disgraceful manners. "Just for that, we're going back to the room. Grab your food; I refuse to be seen with you in public."

America just grinned, gathering his things and offering a hand to England. However, instead of simply holding his hand, the American swept him into a kiss, doing his best to get condiments on England's face. "That better?" he teased. America just grinned, gathering his things and offering a hand to England. However, instead of simply holding his hand, the American swept him into a kiss, doing his best to get condiments on England's face. "That better?" he teased, before starting to walk forward, England following.

"Oh, yes, much. You know me, always wanting to stay within the newest fashion trends," the Brit replied, laughing slightly. "However I was rather unaware that it was in-fashion to smear mayo all over your face…"

"You mean it isn't in fashion?" America asked, feigning horror. "I've been doing it wrong for years!"

England snorted a laugh, pressing his lips firmly against the other's, before drawing back with a bit of a smirk. "I dare say you have. Perhaps next you'll realize that too-tight pants aren't sophisticated, either."

"Skinny-jeans are appropriate for any occasion," the American huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and popping the rest of his sandwich in his mouth all at once.

"I disagree. They hardly look impressive when you enter the meeting room. Rather, you look like one of your high-schoolers, especially when you feel the need to wear a sweatshirt over the top of it." England's lips twitched into a frown at even the memory. "You really should dress more formally at meetings."

"Nah," America argued, shaking his head at the other. "Pretty sure inventing the internet gives me a little bit of leeway as far as dress-code goes."

"Not as much as you would think," England said, rolling his eyes. "Now, anywhere we should be going before we head back to the hotel? No offense, love, but you look like death."

America nodded, sliding a hand around England's waist. "Actually, I just wanna scour the streets for a little while, see how much of this map I remember. 'Cause if so, there's someone pretty important just down this street…"

Sure enough, there was a familiar looking vendor, just by the side of the road. He didn't seem to have much in stock, and England gave him a few confused looks before following closer.

It was an Asian nation, and despite being quite a ways away, America knew that excited hair-curl anywhere, and couldn't help but smile when it morphed into an exclamation point when the nation saw them coming towards him.

"Ah! Hello," South Korea shouted, waving them over. "I'm afraid I don't have anything to sell you… We've been out of stock for… well, forever, technically, since we just opened up and we haven't had anything to sell, since all the flowers died on the way here and we don't have money to pay for anything else yet…"

America wasted no time before reaching his hand into his wallet and pulling out at least fifty rupees. "Will this help?" he asked, handing it to the nation-or-not (as he still wasn't entirely sure).

Korea stared at him, wide-eyed. "Sir, you realize how much money this is, don't you?" he asked, obviously incredulous.

"Yup. It's pretty much just burning a hole in my wallet, and I figure if I'm stuck here on this island without a sail to get home, I may as well stimulate the economy of this area," America joked, but England recognized that vaguely manipulative tone anywhere. The American nation was somewhat obviously planning something, and given his word choice, England was almost one-hundred-percent certain that he was trying to get a sail out of this nation. _Perfect_.

Korea considered him a moment, before finally pocketing the money, evidently deciding it wasn't counterfeit, or at least that he could trust America. He smiled, obviously quite grateful, and couldn't help but burst out with a rather loud, "I know where you can get a sail!"

America smiled, feigning surprise like a pro. "Really?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, peeking pleasantly surprised eyes over his spectacles. "That's insane, I've been looking everywhere for one! Where?" he asked, leaning forward slightly, looking for all the world like an overgrown puppy.

England felt oddly proud of the spectacle, watching in vaguely amused silence.

"I actually have one, it was a gift from my younger brother!" Korea said, tone quite excited. "He used to be a sailor, you see, and still travels sometimes as a merchant, but he seemed to think that I wanted to sail sometimes, too, but unfortunately I haven't felt compelled to quite yet. If you want, you could have it, for free, since you've give me more than enough to start my business here!" That said, he pulled a quite lovely sail onto the counter, the silk in its colors shining faintly in the sunlight.

America's smile morphed into a full-on grin, though this did seem to be perfectly genuine. "Seriously? Man, I was just giving you it 'cause it seemed right and all, but… wow, seriously, you've made everything a thousand times easier. My partner and I'll actually get to travel now." He pulled the sail a little closer, obviously quite content at his purchase. "Thank you—This means a lot to me."

"Ah, it's no problem, and really, it's the least I can do. I'd best start getting some flowers, though," Korea said with a cheerful smile. "Have fun on your trip!"

"Of course," America said, returning the expression. "Good luck with your shop!"

And with that, he carefully folded the sail and tucked it under his arm, linking the other arm with England.

* * *

They returned to the hotel shortly afterwards, and America didn't hesitate before collapsing onto his bed. His tunic was stained with oil and was still scratchy with the remnants of the salt-water from the previous day, and to be frank, despite his bath, America didn't smell particularly sweet.

England, to his credit, didn't mention any of these things, and instead simply prompted him out of the soiled clothing, depositing them on the ground and leaving America in his underthings.

"They're just gonna be messy when I wake up, what's the point of changing?" America had mumbled, but England simply shushed him and stayed next to him until he fell asleep.

Given that most of the island's shops were still open, England didn't hesitate before slipping out of the room once he was certain America wouldn't wake.

He brought the American's wallet with him, along with the filthy clothes, before setting out in search of pajamas and fresh undergarments for the both of them, along with a laundromat of some sort. He changed into his own pajamas shortly after purchasing them—from a silent store-owner who looked curiously like Egypt, at that—and grouped his day-clothes with Americas. Finally, he managed to find the laundromat, and paid the necessary amount to get them cleaned.

The entire process took little more than an hour, and when he slipped back into the hotel room, night had officially fallen, so much so that he could scarcely make out his partner's form against the mattress. Regardless, England folded up the clothes as neatly as he could, keeping his and America's clothes separate, before slipping his pajamas off and sliding next to America, pulling the other nation close and gladly sharing body-heat underneath the covers.

Even in sleep, America seemed to enjoy the contact, and he nestled a little closer, unconsciously sliding an arm around England's shoulders. The Brit simply smiled and pressed a slightly sleepy kiss to America's jaw before falling asleep shortly after.

* * *

The night passed without event, and when America woke, he felt rather pleasantly aware that the foul smell that had been occupying the room had vanished overnight. He nudged England's side, prompting the Brit to wake, however unhappily.

"What'd you wake me for," England muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"You washed them?" America asked, sounding pleasantly surprised.

England yawned but nodded nonetheless. "Yes, I was quite tired of bathing in my own fumes. Yours, too," he added for good measure. "The material is quite soft. I'd forgotten it after so long."

Giving a vaguely sympathetic smile, America pulled the Brit into a hug, pressing a kiss between England's oversized brows. "Thanks, sweetheart."

"Don't thank me yet, you'll ruin them if you don't shower first," England snapped, as always most irritable in the morning when woken too early. America didn't pay the other's grouchiness much mind, however, and merely gave him another kiss.

"Then we should shower."

England growled something vaguely unpleasant at him, sliding back under the covers and placing a pillow over his head. "Yes, you should shower right now and leave me in peace for just a few more minutes."

The American just laughed, mussing England's hair up—or at least, even further than it had already been, being morning hair and all. "Of course, dear," he teased, grabbing his clothes, along with the fresher undergarments, which he was _beyond_ thankful for, and took them into the bathroom with him.

* * *

England was far more pleasant when America had gotten out of the shower.

Apparently the few extra minutes had drastically improved his grouchiness, and after giving America a proper greeting, he hopped into the shower as well.

His reaction to fresh clothes was similar, but more subdued. He may not have wanted to jump for joy the moment he'd stepped into them, but America caught him sighing in relief and rubbing his hands down the fabric more times than he could count.

It was, all in all, a much better way to start the day than the past few, though perhaps it was only so extreme in contrast to the others. Regardless, neither America nor England could find anything to complain about at present.

However, it was shortly after they'd seen a bit more of the city and gotten breakfast that they mutually decided it was time to get going. Canada wouldn't be saving himself, after all, and Romano and Poland hardly seemed to be capable of saving themselves, after all, and they had people who missed them, too. And even if they didn't, they were every bit as valuable as Canada in the grand scheme of things; they deserved a rescue. Given that America and England seemed to be the only ones truly capable of helping the three prisoners, they really did need to get a move on.

So they loaded up on supplies that had been damaged in the water or lost entirely; they collected rope especially, given that it was quite important in the long-run. They also stocked up on food. Neither knew the real time distance between islands, and neither wanted to go hungry, America especially.

They were finished before sunset, and not wanting to lose travel time, decided to risk the trip at night.

"You're sure this is a good idea?" America asked, somewhat hesitantly as England finished up tying the sail to Rome's mast.

"Last I checked it was you who proposed it. You decide," England said, perhaps a bit testily. He finished up, then proceeded to place the goods in the back of the boat. "Now hop in. We should get going before night falls, if we can get the bloody controls figured out first."

America turned to the island, giving it one last look, before nodding and unsteadily walking over to the tiny boat, before reaching out his arms for England, helping him into the boat afterwards. "We all ready to go?" the American asked, not letting go of his partner's hand.

"I believe so." England turned to the boat's mast, knocking on the wood, as if to signal to Rome that everything was ready. Sure enough, Rome turned around, smiling easily.

"Ah! I hadn't noticed you before. I'm afraid I'm not entirely used to this form, you see," he explained. "Anyways, I suppose you would like to be going, then?"

America sat down, nodding easily. "Yeah. Let's head out—We're going to that island with a volcano, right?" he asked, leaning back onto his elbows, obviously starting to relax for the boat-ride already.

England rolled his eyes at how quickly the other was willing to relax in the company of a strange, talking boat, but didn't have much room to talk as he sat down next to America, so close he may as well have sat down on the American's lap. He did just that a few minutes later, blushing slightly but not saying a word of protest when America lay back fully and put his arms around him, circling his smaller frame.

"You are quite correct, young one, though I wonder how you knew that," Rome remarked, but evidently shook it off, not minding what he probably thought were America's premonitions. "Off we go, then!"

And just like that, they were off. Their mini-vacation was over and done with. Though hopefully this next challenge wouldn't be as stressful.


End file.
